


The Ghost and the Crow

by raendown, Red_Hot_Holly_Berries



Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-08 17:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 56,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/pseuds/raendown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Hot_Holly_Berries/pseuds/Red_Hot_Holly_Berries
Summary: Tobirama’s albinism affects his childhood heavily: too sensitive to sunlight, he lives by night, considered either a bad omen or a weakling by most of his clan. He takes to wandering across the Senju lands by night, training on his own. There, he encounters another young boy.The Ghost and the Crow strike an unlikely friendship built on lies - and oh, how the mighty fall!





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a role play wherein I play as Tobirama (and sometimes Hashirama) and Red_Hot_Holly_Berries plays as Madara (and sometimes Izuna). Each change in color denotes a change in point of view from one character to another (and thereby one author to another).

Madara: Holly & Tobirama: Rae

 

Night patrol is not Madara’s favourite by far - truth to be told, though, it’s nobody’s favourite. Who in their right mind would _enjoy_ walking in the dark, senses in overdrive, paranoia making you see enemies behind every tree and shadow?  
Madara’s fingers itch to make the handseals for a katon - what would he give for some light!  
But he knows better than following his childish impulses: fire would ruin his night vision and make him an easy target in the case there _were_ enemies in the whereabouts.  
The child in him is afraid of the dark but Madara squares his shoulders and firmly ignores that small voice in the back of his mind: he’s no child. He’s the Uchiha heir, out doing his duty like any other Uchiha shinobi, and he will not make his father ashamed of him.  
At fourteen, Madara knows how to tread lightly in the forest, disturbing nary a leaf as he jumps from branch to branch, following a clear path in the canopy: the bark is scratched by the passage of hundreds of Uchiha before him. He has been assigned to the western border, where there is no Naka river to mark a clear border between Uchiha land and Senju.  
Moving slowly from tree to tree, Madara allows his eyes to roam over the silent forest, dearly wishing he already awakened the Sharingan. Is that the shadow of a bush or a kneeling ninja? Is that a thick spiderweb or a trap of ninja wire?

It’s the darkness that makes it easy to spot him. Red eyes that glow brightest in the dark watch as the figure flits between the trees. He’d sensed him from quite some distance away but he hadn’t expected this boy to come here. No one ever comes here. That’s the entire reason Tobirama likes to roam this part of the woods after dark; the solitude affords him a freedom that he can never find in the daylight.   
The boy stops and glances around, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Tobirama stops with him. It’s rare for him to see someone outside of the Senju clan and he drinks in this boy’s features like a long awaited glass of water. The rounded chin, the spiky hair - somehow even spikier than his own - those eyes whose shape intrigue him. He’s never seen eyes shaped like that.  
He’s curious what brought the boy here but he knows better than to try and satiate that curiosity. Kept inside the Senju compound his entire life, thought weak by many and scorned by most, Tobirama knows his place all too well. He is the one that watches and listens and learns. It is not for him to ask questions. Still, that doesn’t stop his imagination from running wild, creating all kinds of wild scenarios for what could have brought him his unexpected company.  
After a few minutes he notices that the boy hasn’t moved. He’s still there, crouched on a branch and eyeing his surroundings as if expecting something. Tobirama ducks a little further behind the leaves he is using for cover. He should go but he finds himself staying. The boy fascinates him and he wants to see what he will do, where he will go.

He can’t go on like this.  
Annoyed with himself, Madara rests on a large branch, crouched low. Breathe in, breathe out - this paranoia is going to get him killed. Breathe in, breathe out. Uncle Jiro told him that the chance of meeting a Senju on the western border is about as high as Izuna managing not to fall on his ass during training. Uncle Jiro has been a shinobi for almost twenty years, he _knows_ what he’s talking about. If Uncle Jiro says that he should take it easy, that’s what Madara will do. That bush is a _bush_ , and that spiderweb is a fucking _spiderweb_.  
Madara is fourteen, not six. He should be better than this, he shouldn’t let his mind play tricks on him.  
He breathes in deeply, enjoying the humid scent of grass and bark. He will keep an eye out, but he resolves not to spook like a fucking _rabbit_ at every shadow.  
The Uchiha heir looks up, where the canopy is thin enough he can see the night sky between the branches. The crescent moon is tinted pink, like a drop of blood in a jug of milk, and Madara’s hand rises on its own to touch the amulet around his neck.  
Jade and onyx will keep the spirits away, will hide his presence from any oni wishing him harm. Although far away from both solstice and equinox, this night feels like a haunted night - it feels like he’s not alone out there.

When the boy finally moves, it is with a determined set to his jaw. He looks like he’s having an argument with himself and if that’s the case then Tobirama has to give him points for winning, at least.   
They run together through the trees for a bit, Tobirama staying always out of sight. But running without purpose has always bored him; he needs something else to occupy his mind. It occurs to him that now would be an excellent time to test out the new jutsu he’s been working on. He wants to know if it’s fast enough to keep up with other people.  
The boy keeps running while Tobirama drops behind, obviously unaware that his hidden companion has slowed down. Tobirama’s hands run through a few quick seals and then-  
Suddenly he’s thirty feet ahead of where he had been, soundlessly and seamlessly moved from one location to the other. The boy dashes past his new hiding spot and he grins. It works! He spends the next ten minutes flickering from one spot to another, expending little energy but always staying just a bit ahead of the other.

Madara always prided himself of his self-control: he’s not like Izuna, who’s prone to doubting himself and messing up, or like Tajiro, who-  
(His mind rebels at the grief that comes with the memory of his dead little brother, and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to get over it.)  
Unlike Izuna, who spooks at shadows and seems to delight in seeing things that are not there, Madara is a responsible older brother and tries his best not to let his fears rein him.  
Yet, a blood moon is a night of spirits, and there is _something_ out there.  
At first he dismissed it as his imagination, but the feeling of being watched didn’t fade. As he moves from tree to tree at a sedate pace, he catches glimpses of something pale in the corner of his eye - and yet, whenever he turns to look, there is nothing.  
There is someone - something - out there with him, following him, watching him.  
He thinks it to be a Senju ninja, patrolling like him, but it doesn’t move like a human - he catches a glimpse behind him on his right, then in front of him, on lower branches, then up ahead on his left.  
_Please let it be a kodama, please let it be a kodama_ , Madara prays silently, perched on a high branch, doing his best imitation of an owl as he tries to look every which way at the same time. Kodamas are forest creatures, harmless as long as one doesn’t hurt their trees. Kodamas he can deal with - his amulet should keep him safe enough.  
But there are so many white spirits and demons out there, and Madara is suddenly worried he might have bitten more than he can chew by volunteering for solo patrolling.

The boy knows he’s here. He’s certain that he hasn’t truly been spotted yet but it’s easy to see the way the boy’s head swivels from side to side, trying to follow his movements. Tobirama grins to himself as he flickers up ahead, crouching behind a thick bough and waiting to watch that dark body fly by him at increasingly fast speeds. He wonders if this person is scared. He’s never scared anyone before. It’s kind of fun.   
Once he realizes the fun he’s having Tobirama makes a game of it. He has the ability to go wherever he wants in an instant with this new jutsu and he starts playing around with different ideas. He appears directly overtop of the boy’s head, then far away in the distance to the right. He spends a minute running through the branches just below his feet then flickers away again before he can be spotted.  
He pays no attention to the wild grin on his face, feeling freer than he can remember ever being. He’s never had so much fun in his life. He is particularly amused when the boy starts trying to employ diversionary tactics.

Madara’s breath is coming faster and faster, a thin sheen of sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead. He tries back-tracking his steps, he tries hiding with a genjutsu, he tries sending a bushin the opposite way, he tries sprinting - it’s all in vain. His stalker waits for the genjutsu to fade and ignores the bunshin completely, flitting among the trees: never close enough for Madara to catch a good look, but always in the corner of his vision. It’s driving him crazy.  
It definitely isn’t a kodama - they wouldn’t play with a human this way. By the way this spirit is tricking him, rejoicing in his uneasiness, it could be a kitsune… And he’s plain out of inarizushi to bribe it with - it's not something one brings with them on a patrol. Damn. It must be a powerful spirit, for it to bypass the protection of his onyx and jade amulet like that.  
Well, if running away doesn’t work....  
Madara knows his forest. He heads towards an area where the trees are sparser and grassy glades bathe in the moonlight.  
Then - _there_. A glint of white on his right, and Madara blurs through the handseals for a katon, breathing out a red ball of fire in that direction.  
For a split second the small glade he’s in is lit up, stark colours against stark shadows, and a wail of distress rises from above him. Madara’s head shoots up, and he’s fast enough to see something human-shaped run away, something with white hair.  
Pursuing his lips in a thin line, Madara follows it: if it ran away, it means fire hurts it, and he’s going to use that to the fullest.  
(Nobody makes him run like a mouse and lives to tell the tale.)

Tobirama is only able to run by memory. He _hates_ fire. Fire is bright like the sun and it burns his eyes. He squeezes them shut as involuntary tears threaten to leak out, leaping from branch to branch using the detailed map he carries in his head at all times. He’d just wanted to have a little fun. Lord knows he didn’t get enough in his daily life. Why did that stupid boy have to go and ruin it?  
His ears twitch as they pick up sounds coming after him. Wonderful. Now the boy is chasing him. Tobirama grits his teeth and tries to run faster but his speed is tempered by his lack of vision and the need to step carefully. He can’t use his jutsu if he can’t see where he is going. And he definitely can’t see anything right now while his eyes are burning as if the fire had touched them directly.

The spirit is fast, but not as fast as it was before when he was toying with Madara - it looks like his katon really _did_ hurt it. Teeth bared in a silent growl, the Uchiha heir puts as much chakra as he dares in his feet to enhance his speed. Suddenly emboldened by being the hunter and not the prey anymore, Madara wants to give the spirit a good thrashing - that’ll teach it not to bother an Uchiha shinobi ever again.  
Even if his night vision was ruined by the light of the katon, Madara has locked on the pale figure ahead and pursues it relentlessly, quickly gaining ground.  
Without warning, the spirit stops on the branch of an old oak - it knows it’s going to lose the race, then, and chose the ground to fight. Considering it chose one of the higher branches of the tallest tree, it has some knowledge of tactics.  
Madara’s feet land on the branch of a smaller redwood tree with enough force to shake the entire tree, leaves falling with a quiet rustle - let it be known that no matter his age, Madara is _strong_.  
Moonlight lightens the glade they’re facing on and Madara’s breath stops in his lungs, because he wasn’t chasing any spirit, but- “You’re a _ghost_ ,” he chokes out, stepping back until his back is pressed against rough bark.  
It has snow-white hair and milk-white skin and blood-red eyes, like tomoe-less Sharingan - it looks like a drowned corpse.  
Ghosts are way more dangerous that spirits and demons, what with being _incorporeal_ and thus _impossible_ to hit, while yet being able to affect the reality around them.  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Madara chants, chills running down his back, fear and adrenaline making his heart beat faster. It is perhaps possible that Madara is in over his head, facing a ghost on the night of a blood moon.

Tobirama feels himself go still at the boy’s words. Ghost. He’s been called that more times before than he can count and his first reaction is a heavy scowl. He’s so very tired of being called a ghost.   
Then he pauses as he takes a closer look at the boy (difficult, his eyes are still screaming from the sudden burst of light). The boy is afraid, he realizes. Tonight is a night of many firsts for him; no one has ever been afraid of him before. He is still squinting in pain but he knows that to someone else it must look like anger with the way his face is scrunched up and his shoulders tense.  
‘I can use this,’ he thinks. Tobirama might be an outcast in his own clan but there is something that none of them has ever tried to refute: he is a genius. He knows an advantage when he sees one and he knows he can use this boy’s fear against him. With that in mind he draws himself up to his full height. It isn’t much yet, he’s only twelve after all, but he hopes it’s just a little impressive.  
“What are you doing in my forest?” he demands, cursing his high pitched voice, cursing his vocal chords. Why couldn’t he have hit puberty yet like Hashirama? It would be much better if he had a deep, booming voice like his father has.

The spirit stands in a kata stance, which strikes him as strange: had the ghost been a ninja in his previous life? _Can_ ghosts fight with taijutsu?  
Then the spirit speaks, and a small flame of hope burns in Madara’s chest: can he get out of this situation with diplomacy? Maybe his fire really hurt the ghost and the spirit isn’t any more eager to fight than Madara is.  
“I was out on patrol,” he tentatively answers, racking his mind for his cousin’s ghost stories. How is one supposed to talk to ghosts?  
“I apologize if I disturbed your rest,” he eventually settles for, body tensed and ready to hightail it out of there as the first chance.  
No matter how worried he is, though, Madara can’t help but notice just how _young_ the ghost is: it looks barely ten, even younger than Izuna. Its voice is soft and lilting too.  
Madara never heard tales of such a young ghost: ghosts are generally the souls of people with great resentments who cannot pass on - how could a _child_ suffer from that fate?

Tobirama isn’t really sure what a ghost is supposed to act like. He doesn’t believe in the spirit realm, thinks it’s a load of hogwash better used as bedtime stories for little children. This boy seems to think they’re scary though so he tries his best. He crosses his arms and straightens his back because that’s what Touka does when she’s mad and Touka is _terrifying_ when she wants to be. Not that he’d ever admit that to his cousin.  
He sees the boy twitch and triumphs a little bit. It must be working.  
“Name yourself, mortal!” That sounds like a ghost, right? He hopes so.  
The urge to shuffle his feet is nearly overwhelming but he resists just barely. Father always told him self-control was important and he’s been working on it lately. He’s happy to see it pay off just when he needs it to. 

No attacking nor cursing Madara’s stupid ass yet. He might just make it out of this alive.  
The ghost’s question makes him feel on firmer ground: courtesy to Myo’s lessons, Madara at least knows how to answer.  
“My name is Madara,” he answers, accurately not mentioning his Clan name, or his rank - let the ghost think he’s noone of importance. One can never know against which clan a dead soul might have a grudge against.  
Now, trickier: understand why the ghost was following him around. Was he simply unlucky enough to step on his grave or does he have it out for Madara specifically?  
“Might I ask you why you were following me, venerable ghost?”

“This is my forest,” Tobirama blusters. “You’re trespassing!” He might not be superstitious himself but he at least knows that ghosts are supposed to be territorial and that’s something he can pull off very well. Mostly because he is, in fact, very territorial.   
He’s been escaping to this section of the forest for years now. It’s his private place of freedom where no one will bother him or call him stupid names. It’s annoying that this boy called him one of those same names at first sight but the annoyance is counterbalanced by the amusement he had gotten from the chase. Win some, lose some. He still doesn’t appreciate his sanctuary being violated.  
“State your business in my...land!” He doesn’t wince but it’s a close thing. He hopes the boy (Madara, he said his name was Madara) doesn’t notice the hesitation. He narrows his eyes and utters a threat, just to draw attention away from his slip up. “Speak, fool, or you’ll meet your end here.”

Right his luck, a pissed off ghost. Lovely.  
“I already told you, I was patrolling. I didn’t know this was your place of rest,” Madara answers testily, not liking being asked the same thing twice.  
He ponders the ghost, evaluating it from head to toe: it’s small, fine-boned, with little muscle mass - but it moved like a trained ninja. Stealth and speed trained, perhaps, on the contrary of Madara, who’s being trained for stamina and strength. If it were a fair fight, he wouldn’t doubt on his victory, but against a ghost-  
Madara frowns, pulling himself up and squaring his shoulders. The pale boy may be a ghost, but it still _ran away_ from his katon. As long as Madara has access to his chakra, he is far from helpless. If the lore is correct, he won’t be able to use taijutsu, but his katon gave him a fair chance.  
It’s time to even the scale: get the ghost’s name.  
“I swear on my name I meant you no harm. But perhaps you could tell me your name, so that I may lay offerings in my family shrine and pray for your soul.”

That, Tobirama was not expecting. It’s a strangely polite offer and it brings him up short. He keeps his stance tall as he tilts his head to one side.  
“My name is Tobirama,” he says. It’s not like it can do much harm just to give out his name. He’s a secret, a hidden shame. No one outside of his clan even knows he exists so it’s not as if telling this Madara boy what his name is will bring him any trouble.  
Or at least that’s what he thinks right up until he sees the glint in the dark eyes that are watching his every movement like a hawk.

_Tobirama_ , Madara repeats in his mind - and it’s a strange name for a ghost. ‘The space between two doors’ it means, a name that speaks of improvement and growth. He can’t reconcile it with the grudge that must keep this young kid on earth, with the anger he sees in those blood red eyes.  
And there is a lot of anger in it, at that. Madara is familiar with helpless fury, the kind that makes one to bite their lip bloody, the kind that drives one to train until their knuckles are caked with blood, to repeat a jutsu until they pass out.  
It’s the kind of anger that made him cry and howl when the corpses of his brothers were brought home - and he sees it on the ghost’s features, white eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched tight.  
Madara wagers that fury is not directed at him, that he was just unlucky enough to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.  
(He wonders how much of a kid is in the ghost. How long has it been haunting the forest? How many of its memories does it retain?)  
“Tobirama,” he says, enunciating each syllable clearly, “are you going to hurt me or mine?” Because his family’s safety comes before anything else - before he can afford to show pity to a ghost, he needs to know his loved ones are not going to affected by his actions.

He feels strangely like he’s being assessed. The triumphant glint in Madara’s eyes fades away, replaced with something like pity or understanding. Tobirama tilts his mouth to the side in thought. He’s not sure how he feels about that but he’s very sure that he has no desire to harm anyone who doesn’t want to harm him. Besides, that the boy is asking his intentions towards his precious people speaks highly of him.  
“I mean you no ill will.”  
Tobirama knows what it’s like to want to protect your family. He is only twelve years old but he knows the frustration, the impotence, of watching your loved ones march to battle and wishing there were some way you could protect them. He’s lost some siblings of his own.  
“Your family is safe from me,” he feels compelled to add. If he can’t keep his own family safe, the least he can do is offer empty assurances to make someone else feel better about their own.

The ghost’s promise is very generous, and Madara doesn’t hesitate to bow his head and raise his clasped hands in thanks - although he makes sure not to gaze away from the spirit.  
“Thank you,” he says, eagerness and honesty in his voice. The ghost was obviously riled before, but now Madara’s words seem to have assuaged it, and it looks calmer, less ready to violence. In a way, it had been Madara’s fault for (unwittingly) treading on his resting place, after all. The Uchiha heir understands protecting what little is left to protect when all else is lost.  
(Izuna, Izuna, must protect him, must save him, he will not stand beside another too-small grave, he will not bury another brother. He will die before he lets it happen. Izuna is all Madara has left, because there are three small graves engraved with the Uchiwa fan and their deaths were pointless, pointless, killed because of their blood, and it’s sheer luck Madara wasn’t killed in his childhood too.)  
Swallowing a hard lump in his throat (the earth on Tajiro’s grave is still soft, no grass growing on it yet, and he can still feel dirt caking his hands from when he buried the coffin-) Madara thinks he’s had enough anger. Enough grief. He just wants it to stop - and given the times they live in, there’s no chance Tobirama wasn’t a victim of this senseless war too.  
“None of my clan ever reported your presence - if we had known, we wouldn’t have set our patrol here. I’ll tell the Elders when I go back home.” There, a small incentive for the ghost to let him go. Then a thought strikes him, and he tilts his head. “We’ve been patrolling this lands for years. Why hasn’t anyone ever met you?” Is Tobirama a recent ghost or does he simply appear seldomly? Perhaps only during blood moons?

Another question there is no true harm in answering but Tobirama has to scrounge for an answer to this one. Playing a ghost is a lot more involved than he had thought it would be. Honestly he had expected to say “boo” and have the boy run away, he’d certainly seemed spooked enough when Tobirama was playing about with testing his jutsu.   
“I don’t like people.” He goes for honesty. There aren’t many people he likes. Touka is okay, although she doesn’t often have time for him. He’s closest to Hashirama but they don’t talk quite like they used to. His brother always makes time for them to have dinner together, Tobirama’s first meal of the day and his brother’s last, and he supposes he should pay more attention while the other boy talks.  
It’s just, he’s so tired. He’s always so tired of people. In his world people are cruel and boring and not at all worth any effort. He’s a little ashamed when he thinks of how he tunes out his brother’s chatter. Hashirama is the one person on this earth who has never said a mean word to him.  
Madara is looking at him strangely and he realizes that his words were probably rude. Not speaking to people means he has very few social skills. He wonders if ghosts are allowed to be rude and decides he should say something else just to be sure.  
“You’re alright, I suppose.”  
Did that fix it? Do ghosts like people? Tobirama wants to sigh. When he gets home he is going to lock himself into the clan library and find all the books he can on spirits and ghosts. He’ll be more prepared for the next time someone wanders into his little corner of the woods, he’ll know how to be a better ghost next time.

Madara blinks owlishly, trying to come up with a good answer to that. The ghosts thinks he’s ‘alright’? That’s a good thing, right? “Thank you… I guess?”  
The ghost’s eyes - no, _Tobirama’s_ eyes, he should stop calling the ghost an ‘it’ in his mind before he slips and says it out loud - seem to come in and out of focus, as if he’s looking at something other than Madara. Trusting the ghost not to attack him, he dares a quick look behind him, which reveals that there’s no one else in the clearing except from them.  
Now that he’s not in immediate threat of life anymore - and holding close the knowledge that fire harms the ghost - Madara allows himself to study Tobirama a bit more.  
His clothes are utterly non-descriptive - a brick-red yukata and dark grey breeches - that don’t tell Madara anything useful about the kid’s identity or the age he lived in.  
In Myo’s stories, ghosts are rarely as well-behaved as Tobirama, and Madara can’t help but be curious. “Have you…. Have you been around for long?”  
_Please don’t take offence please don’t take offence._

Did this boy honestly just ask if he’s been dead long? Really? Tobirama frowns a little. He might not know much about ghosts but he’s pretty sure that’s not something you’re supposed to ask them. He lets it go though. If he were pretending to be a vengeful spirit he would have attacked on sight instead of talking.   
So, how long has he been dead for? He’s a little tempted to say he has been in these woods seeking peace for hundreds of years but that sounds a bit dramatic for his taste. Then he brightens as a thought occurs to him. Spirits are supposed to be vague, tricky assholes, aren’t they? He doesn’t need to give a specific answer.  
“I have been here since I died.”  
It’s really hard not to laugh at the look this earns him. It wouldn’t have been a lie, were he actually dead.  
“And you? How long have you been _around_?”  
Tobirama hasn’t teased anyone since Kawarama was lowered into the earth (his mind automatically shies away from the memories - too much blood, too much sorrow). He’d forgotten the feeling of laughter bubbling inside him, tickling just under the surface. Maybe he should tease Hashirama sometimes if this is how much fun it is. He thinks Madara might begin to steam at the ears and he lets himself smirk, just to stir him up a bit more.

Madara might perhaps flush a bit. A tiny bit. Ok, a lot. That was very idiotic on his part. Kami, why can’t he _think_ before he talks? Mom always tells him his tongue is going to be the death of him.  
He brought this upon himself, though, so the best thing he can do is weather through Tobirama’s amused smirk as if it didn’t faze him one bit, his words curt and brief to get it over as soon as he can: “I’m fourteen.”  
(He’s not sure he’s managing well.)

Tobirama’s never seen anyone turn quite that shade of red. He wants to say it’s adorable but he’s not really sure he’s the most qualified to name something as adorable. Either way it makes him smile, which he realizes too late isn’t really a very ghostly expression.  
“You’re older than I was,” he says, proud of himself for using the proper tense, “but still young. You say you were on patrol?”  
The urge for teasing is still there and Tobirama wonders how Madara will deal with the ‘ghost’ moving around. He’s been told his movements are strangely fluid, like the water he wields so well. Here’s hoping that something else he’s usually made fun of for will benefit him in this strange situation.  
With a contemplative hum, Tobirama slowly meanders down the branch he’s been standing on. When he gets to the end he uses his chakra to buoy himself up, tip toeing along the tiny edges which shouldn’t be able to support him until he steps over onto the branch of another tree and wanders along that one.  
“Isn’t there someone else that should be patrolling? An adult? A brother?”  
When he reaches the trunk of the tree he notices that there aren’t any convenient branches nearby for him to step on. With a mental shrug he simply flickers away to another one, walking back and forth as he waits for an answer.

The way the ghosts moves is definitely creepy: like before when they were playing a sick version of hide and seek, he just steps into the air and disappears, only to reappear somewhere else as if nothing had happened.  
Madara would probably be more awed at that strange skill if he weren’t busy putting a lid on his feelings, hands curling into trembling fists.  
“No,” Madara says through gritted teeth, “It’s up to me.”  
It should be Kaito’s duty to patrol - among the Uchiha, the heir has to learn how the Clan works by participating in every work a ninja has to do, patrolling included.  
Kaito was the eldest, it should be up to him to go on night patrol, while Madara and his brothers would be confined to the battlefield as the spares they were.  
Kaito was the first to die, leaving the burden of being the Uchiha heir to Madara. Kaito had told him - made him promise - to take care of their younger siblings.  
The ghost’s careless words remind him of how Madara didn’t keep up his promise. Kenji and Tojiro are dead, too far from him, hunted like animals by shinobi four times their age. “I’m the older brother now,” he spits out, rage churning inside of him, and the young ghost is an easy target, is the closest outlet, and he lashes out because anger is all he knows to deal with grief. “Got a problem with that?”

Tobirama looks at Madara and for a moment he sees someone else, someone with light brown hair and a scar shaped like a treasure map X. The memories he has been trying not to think of flood in and he is standing next to an open grave while dirt slowly covers a face that was much too young to die.  
(Should have been there, should have helped, should have been allowed to protect)  
His heart clenches and he forces the memories away. Madara looks angry, as consumed by grief as he had been himself - as he still is himself, even if he learned to show it less. The hurt of losing a sibling never goes away, after all.  
“I was an older brother, once,” he says, taking his gaze away from that angry face and flickering over to a new branch. “And a younger brother.” What’s the harm in mixing truth with half-truth? Madara doesn’t need to know he still is a younger brother.  
“The smell of the graves never leaves you, does it? I can still hear them. And see them. I’m sorry you lost your brothers, Madara, but they’re at peace now just as mine are.”  
He feels a little thankful suddenly that this boy found him tonight. He wishes there was someone in his life that could say these things to him. He’s honestly not sure what happens to someone when they die; he doesn’t believe in heaven or the afterlife but it’s all too obvious that Madara does. If it is within Tobirama’s power to grant him a little peace of mind then he doesn’t mind doing it.

Madara violently recoils, the back of his head hitting the trunk of the tree with a dull thud and a flare of pain. He snarls at the ghost, massaging what’s surely going to become a bump. “Who _are_ you?” he spits, because ghost or not, the white creature has no right to say something like that, like he _knows_ , like he knows his brothers, like he knows _him_.  
Tobirama’s ghost stands still, looking younger than ever, a tired, sad grimace on his pale face, his eyes a well of quiet grief - there’s no more anger in him, and Madara feels like it leaked all inside of him, because anger is all he can feel now, drowning the grief for too many graves, for too many missed smiles, for too many silences in a house that used to ring with laughter.  
It’s as if this ghost tore open the scab of a healing wound, tore open the lid he put on the pain he felt, the grief he hid from his father and from Izuna - he feels almost violated, unbalanced, because he cannot deal with this, doesn’t _know_ how to deal with this.  
“How do you _know_ that?” he snarls, stubborn and defiant, and he refuses to acknowledge the noise he makes as a sob, because he’s not going to cry, he’s not - but it still rings in the clearing like the wail of a wounded animal.

Tobirama flounders. Madara is angrier now than he had been before and that wasn’t his intention at all. His words were meant to give him a modicum of comfort, not bring about the burning rage he can clearly see in every line of the other’s body.  
(It’s a rage he know well, a rage he would carry within himself if he weren’t cold on the inside. They tell him he’s made of ice and sometimes Tobirama believes them. Shouldn’t he be angrier? Shouldn’t he rage like Madara does? Shouldn’t he be trying to break the world for the sake of those now lost to him?)  
Madara’s eyes are accusing, demanding, and he wants to give an answer. He wants to give him anything to make the pain go away. He thinks he would take it upon his own shoulders if he could. He carries so much pain already, what’s a little more?  
His mind scrambles for something - anything - to say. What would Madara believe? And what would make him feel better? It’s unlikely they will ever see each other again so he’s not too worried about keeping up a lie. The only problem is finding a lie that’s plausible.  
He wants to hit himself when it comes to him. He’s playing a _spirit_. This boy thinks he is a denizen of the afterlife; he’s superstitious and he probably believes in all kinds of ridiculous things. So Tobirama will give him ridiculous.  
“I met them,” he says the most impressive voice he can muster, “when I showed them the way.”

Met them. Met his brothers?  
Madara is speechless, breathless. Anger and pain and loneliness fight inside of him, but all that leaves his lips is a broken sound.  
The ghost looks at him with old, sad eyes, completely nonplussed by Madara's fury, as if it can't touch him - because it _can't_ , can it?  
Madara swallows. No matter how friendly Tobirama looks, he's been disrespecting a _ghost_ , the spirit of a dead _child_.  
_Tobirama has met his brothers_.  
“Showed them the way?” Madara repeats with a broken voice, his throat feeling sore as if he'd cried for hours.  
For a minute, Madara has forgotten himself, treating Tobirama like a normal person, unwittingly lashing out at the only creature who could perhaps give him some peace of mind - who perhaps gave _his brothers_ peace.  
“Did you really see my brothers?” He asks, unknowingly stepping forward until he's on the very tip of his branch. “Kaito, Kenji, Tojiro? They look like me, we all have the same hair,” he says, tugging at his hair, a bit of desperate frenzy making his hands tremble, his words tumbling out with no sense or rhyme. “Kaito is the oldest of us, Kenji makes terrible jokes all the time, Tojiro has a red birthmark on his forehead. Did you see them?”  
Madara is vaguely aware he's shaking, but he doesn't care he's coming undone at the seams, all his attention focused on the unmoving ghost.

Tobirama isn’t sure if he’s going to hell for this or not (if there is a hell). The anger leaks out of Madara’s countenance to be replaced with the most heartbreaking hope that Tobirama has ever seen and he feels it twisting inside his chest like a hot knife.   
He pays careful attention to the three names given to him, the small descriptors. He knows the next time he kneels at his own brother’s graves he will spare a kind word for these new names as well. ‘Kaito, Kenji, Tojiro’, he thinks, ‘you left this boy behind and he’s still hurting but I’m trying to help.’  
“Yes, I saw them.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “I showed them the way to the Pure Lands. They’re at rest now where nothing can hurt them.”  
He really hopes these are comforting words. He’s only trying to say what he wishes someone would say to him but he’s not sure how to word it. No one has ever tried to comfort him, not even Hashirama. It is usually him that comforts his older brother, him that tempers the wild emotions his brother suffers from with cool logic.  
He certainly didn’t have enough time with Itama and Kawarama to get good at it. Tobirama wishes he believed in the Pure Land. He wishes he could picture his siblings lounging in golden sunlight, peaceful and waiting for him to join them.

Tobirama's eyes are clear and solemn, and Madara doesn't doubt his words for one second. A small part of him knows that cousin Myo will reprimand him for blindly believing a ghost, that the stories warn against them, but…  
But Tobirama made clear he means no ill will to him, that he harbours no grudge against Madara and his family.  
And Tobirama just single-handedly gave him the peace he had given up on.  
His brothers are in peace. His brothers are in the Pure Lands, even murdered as they were.  
Madara closes his eyes with a trembling sigh, and he stays like that, simply breathing, for a long moment - it feels like his heart was just freed from bands of iron constricting it. It feels like it hurts a little less.  
When he open his eyes, Madara half expects the ghost to be gone, but the young child is still there.  
His brothers are in peace. Madara is not responsible for them anymore. He doesn't have to share their pain anymore.  
He sighs, and it feels like his blind anger leaves him along with his breath. He feels lighter, somehow.  
This time, when he bows, he bows as deeply as he can, hands clasped in prayer in front of his face. “Thank you, venerable Tobirama. Thank you for helping them.”  
_Thank you for helping me_.

Gratitude leaves a strange taste in Tobirama’s mouth. The boy is thanking him for telling white lies and he has no idea how he’s supposed to react to that. He stares at Madara for a few moments, too overwhelmed and confused to think of what to say.   
Perhaps, so long as his father never finds out, it would be okay to retreat just this once.  
“Now, begone from my lands!” he says, trying to wrap himself up in his ghostly persona.  
Then he uses his crossed arms to hide the handseals he makes and flickers away from sight. He doesn’t go far of course. There’s no way he’s really going to just _leave_. Instead he reappears inside of a particularly leafy bush on the forest floor, staring up at Madara to see what he will do. From the angle, he notes, it’s much more obvious how much taller Madara is than him. It rankles. Hashirama is taller too and he wishes he would just hit puberty already. 

The ghost disappears without warning, not giving Madara the chance to say goodbye.  
One moment Tobirama stands on the high branch - the next he's simply not _there_ anymore, as if he was never there to begin with.  
The only proof Madara has of the ghost's presence is the thin sheen of tears over his eyes.  
Stubbornly, Madara wipes at his eyes - but his lips are curled in a thin smile.  
Kaito, Kenj, Tajiro.  
They're alright.  
They're not with him anymore, but they're in peace.  
They're safe, away from the war.  
Resolutely, Madara turns to face eastward, where his home is, the night breeze making his bangs sway in his eyes.  
Kaito, Kenji and Tajiro are safe, but Izuna isn't. Not yet.  
Madara grins, showing his teeth in a silent snarl of challenge. He dares anyone to try and steal his last brother from him.  
For Kaito, for Kenji, for Tajiro, for Izuna - he will stop this war. No child will die in vain anymore.  
He spares one last glance to where the ghost stood, then in a burst chakra he resumes his patrol.  
Tobirama is a kid who died too young in this war too, he's willing to bet.  
Maybe he'll stop it for him as well.

The sudden hope that fills Madara’s face, and the smile that he turns towards the east, renders Tobirama unable to move long after the boy had gone. He is left crouching among twigs and leaves, staring up into an empty canopy, still seeing the after image of a dark haired boy and all the wild emotions he had gone through in just one short meeting.   
He did it. The familiar rushing feeling of success that he usually associates with completing a new jutsu fills him up until he thinks he might burst. He did it. He _helped_.  
Tobirama finds a smile on his own face as he sees his brothers’ faces in his mind’s eye. Whether or not they had reached peace in some fabled afterlife he couldn’t bring himself to believe in, he is sure they would be proud of him for what he’s done tonight. And that is his own peace, he finds.  
Tobirama is more eager to return home tonight than he has been in years. He knows he is returning to scorn and insults, to a place he doesn’t truly belong, but his heart is lighter than he can remember it ever being and he’s looking forward to seeing Hashirama. His brother will never find out about this little adventure and that’s okay. Tobirama is more interested in hearing about his anyway, relearning to cherish the only brother he has left.  
As he slips into bed to the sound of silence, he spares a thought for Madara. It was fluke that they met but he wishes, impossibly, that they could meet again someday.


	2. We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a few days after the previous chapter.
> 
> Madara is stubborn like that: he can't let the ghost rest.

Madara: Holly & Tobirama: Rae

 

Five days have passed since he met the ghost, and there Madara is: back into that stretch of forest.  
Truth is, Madara wants to meet Tobirama again.  
Last time he was too overwhelmed to think, what with first meeting a ghost, then the revelation about his brothers. Thing is, when he went back home and thought about it, Madara cursed himself when he realized that he still had questions for Tobirama: questions about his brothers (how were they when they travelled to the Pure Lands? Were they sad? Were they in pain? Had they seen what had happened after their death?) and questions about the ghost himself (how had he died? How long ago? Was he sad? Could Madara repay him in any way?)  
It didn't sit right with him that he would come home to his family with a lighter heart, while the ghost had nothing but the cold earth and his pain to go back to.  
He told Myo of his meeting, but only her: she is his cousin and a miko, she _knows_ stuff like that. She agreed with him: he had to go back to the forest to meet the ghost again.  
Madara had signed himself up for night patrolling again, asking Uncle Jiro to be assigned the western border again.  
With a sigh, the Uchiha heir stops his wanderings and sits on a high branch.  
Two days after the meeting, he went into the forest again, at the same hour, but no ghost appeared. He hopes that today his luck will hold.

When he senses the boy, Tobirama stops dead, the fishing pole in his hands slipping from his grasp and plunking down below the surface of the river. He spares a moment to scowl at it - he’ll have to replace that, damn it - then turns his head to where Madara’s chakra has appeared.   
He thinks the other boy might just be passing by but he keeps coming closer and closer until Tobirama is too curious not to go investigate. Abandoning the effort to fish for a late night snack he leaps into the trees and sets a quick pace, locking on to Madara’s signature like a beacon.   
The boy looks just the same as he did before, dark spiky hair and a determined expression with just the smallest edge of wariness. He doesn’t look afraid, though. Tobirama takes the time to watch him first, sitting still on a branch high up in one of Tobirama’s favorite trees. Hashirama made that tree grow when they were little, when he was first learning to use his signature Wood Style that no one else seems able to figure out.  
Madara looks like he’s waiting for something, disappointed that it hasn’t come. Tobirama sits there, hidden from sight, for almost ten full minutes before it occurs to him - did Madara come looking for _him_? He wants to dismiss the idea out of habit. Why would anyone come looking for him? Then he realizes that of course Madara would look for him, he being the spirit that guided Madara’s lost brothers to the afterlife. Or, so the older boy thought.  
Time to play spirit again. It’s a damn good thing he’s wearing the same clothes as he had been the last time they met if he wants to play the same charade. Tobirama allows himself a quick smile before wiping his face of any expression. He flickers over to a branch quite close to Madara and, unable to resist, pulls at a single lock of hair.   
Then he is gone again, flickering out of sight and hiding behind the trunk of a tree with a hand over his mouth to keep in his laughter. 

Madara most certainly does _not_ shriek like a little girl.  
He doesn't, really.  
The sound he makes is a _manly shout_ , ok? Because when a fucking ghost pops up behind you and pulls your hair, what else is one to do?  
Tobirama is lucky he's a ghost and can disappear, because if he were a real person, Madara's kunai would be embedded deep in his chest - that’s not something anyone sane would do to someone who's _war trained_ , dammit. One doesn't simply startle a ninja and expect to get a hug for their efforts!  
Panting, his face flushed red, Madara puts his (useless) kunai back in its hidden holster, looking every which way for a glimpse of white. “That was _not_ funny!”

Tobirama would be tempted to take Madara at his word if it weren’t for the fact that he grew up with Touka. Touka gets all sorts of noises out of Hashirama and she always thinks it’s funny, so he thinks he’s probably allowed to feel the same here.  
He has to wait for the urge to giggle to die down before he can draw himself up to his full height and use his jutsu to appear before Madara. He makes sure to move to a safe distance away, wary of the kunai he hadn’t noticed was pulled before, watching Madara slip it back into its holster.  
He wants to say something in greeting but instead he has to bite the inside of his cheek in order to not burst out laughing. Madara’s expression is _priceless_. Tobirama takes so long to say something that the older boy starts to look at him funny and he blurts out the first thing that pops into his head.  
“You came back.”

‘ _You little shit_ ’ Madara thinks heatedly, and he almost says it, too - but thank kami he manages to catch himself before he goes and insults a ghost.  
Tobirama being dead doesn't change the fact that _he's a little shit_ , but it does mean the other could make Madara pay dearly for his disrespect.  
The Uchiha heir breathes in deeply through the nose - keep your temper reined in.  
“Greetings to you too,” he eventually says. See, mom? He _can_ do quiet, contrary to popular belief who wants him shouting all the time.

Somewhere in the back of his head he can hear his inner voice groaning in exasperation (and why does his inner voice sound like Hashirama?). He’s been rude again. He doesn’t _mean_ to, no matter what people think. It just never crossed his mind that he would need a formal greeting.  
It’s not as if he gets much practice at this sort of thing.   
Still, to make up for it he affects a contrite face and what he hopes is an apologetic smile. Considering Madara still looks like he swallowed a rock and is trying not to admit it, he’s not sure the effort comes across the way he meant it to.  
“Greetings, Madara.” Was that too formal? How do you greet someone who is...whatever Madara is to him? He wouldn’t say they’re friends, although they’re already a lot closer to it than the children his own age whom he’s known his entire life.   
“What brings you back to my forest?”

A yawn catches Madara unaware, and he barely manages to cover his gaping mouth with a hand. Three night patrols in five days means he's not sleeping much, so he doesn't see anything wrong with sitting on his branch, swinging his legs into the void.  
“I wanted to meet you,” he openly admits, looking up at the ghost - who in turn is looking puzzled at him, like he doesn't quite know what to do with Madara.  
Well, it's not like _seeking out_ a ghost is something anyone would do. Anyone sane, that is.  
“I told my cousin Myo of you - she's a miko, you see. I wanted to ask you if you'd like for her to come and bless your resting place.” ‘Perhaps it would help you move on,’ he wants to add, but he doesn't - it sounds rude.  
Sadly, Myo didn't have clear guidelines as to how to interact with a benevolent ghost, so Madara is kind of winging this as he speaks.  
“She didn't come because you said you didn't like people, so I thought you likely wouldn't show yourself to her.”

Panic fills Tobirama at the idea of this Myo coming here as well, so sudden he only just manages to stop himself from bursting out with a wild, ‘No!’ at the very thought. Instead he forces himself to keep his composure, exerting that control over himself that his father insists is important.   
“I _don’t_ like people,” he agrees, as regal as he can. “Please do not bring her here. I do not wish to speak with anyone else. You are...quite enough.”  
He can feel himself slipping into an overly formal pattern of speech but doesn’t try to fight it. It’s how he always responds to stressful situations and it probably sounds more impressive anyway, makes him sound less like a child.  
He still feels like a child though, and he can’t help quietly asking, “Were you really thinking of me?”  
He’s not sure what to do with kindness like Madara’s. Surely he is offering blessings with his brothers in mind but that doesn’t negate the fact that he offered. It’s more than anyone has ever given to Tobirama before. 

Madara can't help but chuckle at the ghost's innocent comment. “The _ghost_ asks me if I've been thinking of him!” Shoulders shaking in quiet mirth, he sends Tobirama a grin: “As if I could think of anything else!”  
His chuckles soon die out, and he looks at the dead child for a long moment. “I imagined you wouldn't like Myo about - you never showed yourself to my clansmen in the however-many years you've been here, after all.”  
Tobirama looks quite relieved at that - and isn't it funny, that a ghost dislikes human company as much as humans dislike ghosts’ company?  
“I brought you something,” he says, rummaging in the small messenger bag slung on his shoulder and fishing out a small jug of sake and two perfect onigiri.  
“Myo and I prayed at our family shrine for you, but I brought you offerings all the same. Myo blessed them.” He kind of wants to ask Tobirama to guide him to his resting place to leave them there, but… Not today. The ghosts seems very protective of what’s little he can still call ‘his’, and Madara isn’t going to overstep his bounds.

He’s not sure what touches him more.   
Madara could think of nothing but him? Cold, ugly, ghostly him? Sure he’s supposedly a ghost but doesn’t Madara see spirits everywhere if he believes in them? He can’t believe it’s that uncommon and he stubbornly wants to hold on to the idea that part of it is _him_ that the other boy has been thinking of.  
And then, of course, is the revelation that Madara had taken the time to pray for him, to bring him offerings and have a family member bless them in Tobirama’s name. He’s a bit young for the sake but those onigiri...he really is hungry. Do ghosts eat? Can he have them now or does he have to wait for Madara to leave? They look wonderful. He decides he can’t wait.  
Tobirama is very careful as he appears right in front of Madara, plucking the gifts from the proffered palms without making any physical contact. Then he flickers away behind a tree trunk and shoves one of them in his mouth whole. He leaves the second onigiri and the sake in the hole of a tree he’s hidden things in many times before, chewing madly as he does so. The moment he’s swallowed he jumps through space back to Madara, hoping he hasn’t been gone long enough to raise suspicion.  
“Thank you for your offerings. They are good gifts.” _Very_ good. Very tasty.

Myo warned him not to expect anything special, that the offerings would be left untouched where he left them - only to find them gone the next day, either slowly consumed by the spirit or, if the ghost didn't appreciate them, eaten by wild animals. Ghosts don't really need to eat like demons do, she told him, they only absorb the offering’s spiritual energy to sustain themselves.  
As he stares wide-eyed at his empty hands, Madara's eyebrows rise so high on his forehead they threaten to join his hairline: Tobirama made the sake and the onigiri _disappear_!  
Myo told him only the strongest ghosts can affect the physical realm - from Madara's description of Tobirama, she was unsure whether the white-haired kid would fall in that category or not.  
Well, mystery solved. Madara makes a silent vow not to piss off Tobirama: vulnerable to fire he may be, but he likely has a plethora of ways to hurt him.  
Suddenly Tobirama is on Madara's branch, standing just out of reach. The Uchiha heir has to crane his neck back to look at the ghost's face, but he thinks Tobirama looks quite pleased.  
Poor spirit probably never had anyone leaving offerings for him.  
“You're welcome,” Madara answers, quirking his lips in a crooked smile. Maybe some energy will help him gain back some colour? He wonders what Tobirama looked like in life. Was his hair blond, or black like his? He thinks blond hair and blue or green eyes would suit him. Perhaps grey, too.  
“I passed through this stretch of forest two nights ago but you weren't here. Were you hiding from me?”

Two nights ago? Tobirama winces at the memory. To be perfectly honest he had spent that night curled up in bed with his senses turned inward, trying to relieve some of the pain in his head. He’d been training with Hashirama and his brother had gotten in a lucky shot with a new jutsu he’d been working on, one he had overestimated the strength of.  
He probably shouldn’t admit that though. Not only because it would definitely break the charade he’s playing but it doesn’t sound _cool_. It makes him sound weak. Tobirama doesn’t want Madara to think of him as weak.   
He goes with the first relatively plausible excuse he can think of.  
“I was performing my duties. There were souls who needed me to show them the way.”  
Madara has been studying him with an oddly considering look and Tobirama is glad when his words distract him. He doesn’t want the boy to look too closely. That’s always the face that comes before the insults and he desperately hopes Madara isn’t going to insult him.  
He’s been so kind so far. Tobirama likes him, he doesn’t want this - whatever this is - to be ruined. 

“That’s… that's something I wanted to ask you about, actually,” Madara says, hesitating, weighing his words well.  
“Is it only kids you help reach the Pure Lands? Or adults’ souls as well? Is it everyone or only ninja who died in this war? Like… like you?”  
Madara wets his lips, shoulders tensed. He doesn't like asking this kind of question, but Myo explained him _why_ they need asking.  
“You died in this war, didn't you? You were a ninja. I’m thinking your brothers were too. Is that the reason you helped my brothers? Because you couldn't help yours?”

Tobirama thins his lips and furrows his brow, forcing back the tears through sheer will. He won’t cry. He won’t be weak.  
(Blood on hands that wasn’t his, he could have helped, he _should_ have helped)  
He stares at Madara while his throat works, choking him from the inside like the harsh wails that want to come clawing out. He won’t let them. Control, control, control.  
(Open graves and wet dirt. A face that should be smiling but it’s still, too still)  
He breathes slowly, deeply, concentrates on blinking. He can hear his father’s voice scornfully asking him if he’s going to cry and promises himself that he won’t. Focus on something else, he tells himself. What were the other questions? Madara asked other questions.  
“I help all those who lose their way,” he forces out, voice a little more hoarse than it should be. “The time of my death is irrelevant.”  
Kawarama and Itama are there before him, grinning freely over Madara’s shoulder. He ignores them. Their memories belong to him and he doesn’t want to share.

Well, if Madara ever needed proof of the integrity of Tobirama’s reasons, there it is. The ghost is facing him, but he’s not _looking_ at him, his red gaze dull, as if he’s seeing something mortals can’t see. There’s a naked pain on his face, a grimace pulling the corners of his mouth, and Madara recognizes the way Tobirama breathes (do ghosts even need to breathe?) as what he himself does to stop himself from crying.  
Tobirama is hurting, it’s obvious.  
Madara thinks he knows what’s holding the ghost back from the Pure Land. He’s willing to bet it’s not for selfish revenge, but guilt for not being able to help his unnamed brothers.  
“You really are a guide,” Madara says, awed. “Myo said that most ghosts can’t help but become vengeful spirits, driven by pettiness.” There is no record of a ghost as young as Tobirama, though. It’s probably his young age, his innocence, that allows him to retain his senses and conscience.  
(If Tobirama’s clan was anything similar to the Uchiha, Madara knows that Tobirama isn’t _completely_ innocent - at twelve he had already killed. And yet, despite surely having blood on his hands, Tobirama still manages to be good.)  
Tobirama stands still, his pale skin and pale hair an eerie sight in the dark forest.  
He must be so alone, Madara thinks.  
It feels wrong, that someone who helped Madara’s brothers in the hour of need must be alone and cold, when those who killed them are alive and warm.  
Despite being aware that Tobirama may potentially be older than him, older than his clan, Madara feels sorry for this ghost, worries for him. Myo’s words were clear.  
“Myo said that all ghosts, sooner or later, fall prey to their darker human feelings. They become corrupt.” His voice is but a whisper, easily lost in the rustle of the trees’ leaves, aware that he is overstepping his bounds - and yet unable to stay silent, the same way he would step in when Izuna is in trouble. “I don’t know how many years you’ve been here, but you should join the Pure Lands, Tobirama. You can’t risk that.”

As he slowly fights the memories back, Madara’s words seep in. Tobirama blinks, nonplussed. Is Madara...worried about him?   
He feels a little awkward and off-balance. Hashirama might worry sometimes but never very much. After all, how much trouble could he possibly get into when he isn’t even allowed outside of the compound? If anyone ever found out about his nighttime adventures there would be hell to pay for sure but he doesn’t think anyone would actually worry.   
“If I leave then I can’t help anymore,” he says. It’s the exact opposite of what he wishes he could say. What he wants to say is ‘if I never leave then I can never help’. He is trapped here as surely as Madara thinks he is, if not for the same reasons.

Madara can respect the confidence behind those words. Heck, he respects the _grief_ behind those words, but it’s not what he wanted to hear.  
How much is a soul worth? How many souls guided to the Pure Land is worth Tobirama’s soul, when inevitably corruption consumes him and makes a monster of him, his generosity twisted into something sick and horrible?  
Yet Madara understands duty. The risk Tobirama is courting isn’t much different from the way Madara shields Izuna in battle, the way he’s ready to die to protect him.  
With all likelihood, Tobirama didn’t have any choice about his death, and Madara realizes with sad enlightenment that this choice he made in his death may perhaps be the only one ever afforded to him.  
What path Tobirama chooses isn’t his to decide, nor to push.  
“I understand,” Madara says with a sigh. “I just hope you’ll find your peace before corruption finds you.” He lowers his voice, his eyes straying over the starry sky. “I just wish I could help you.”

It’s very warm in the forest all of a sudden. Which is strange because it’s the middle of the night and his arms are prickling with the chill in the air. Only his face seems to be affected by this strange wave of heat.  
It takes a moment before his stupid genius brain catches up and Tobirama is mortified to realize he is blushing. He can’t help it though. Madara’s concern for his well being is so new, so unexpected, and he can’t help but turn what is probably a very interesting shade of red. His brother looks _dumb_ when he blushes. Tobirama hopes he doesn’t look the same.  
“Your kind words are a great help,” he mumbles. Ghosts probably shouldn’t mumble but it’s the best he can do at the moment.   
(Kindness, he decides, has a special feel to it. It’s a warmth in Madara’s chakra, it’s a light taste of his tongue; kindness is a bubbling in his chest and he wants more, more, more. For once in his life, he lets himself ask something selfish)  
“I’m certain that with your kindness I could never become corrupted.”

Madara blinks, warmth rising to his cheeks. Thank goodness he’s pretty sure it’s too dark for the ghost to see his blush. “You really think that?”  
There’s a special pleasure in being needed. Madara is familiar with Izuna needing him, is familiar with the love he feels when his little brother asks for help, when he slips in the elder’s bed to chase away the nightmares, when he beams at Madara after a training session gone well. But Izuna is his brother, it’s taken for granted that the younger would need him - Tobirama is pretty much a stranger, someone who by all means is way much more powerful than Madara.  
And yet the ghost seems to want Madara with him, seems to think the Uchiha can help him with his presence… his friendship, perhaps? Madara never lacked friends but they are all Uchiha like him. Tobirama is different.  
Madara looks up at the ghost, still standing a few feet away, giving him a beaming smile. “Sure. I’ll be your friend.”

The flush on his face kicks up the heat just a little bit more and Tobirama smiles shyly, barely able to believe what he had just heard. He rolls the word around in his mind, looking at it from all angles.  
“I would like that,” he says quietly. Then he tilts his head. Is it okay to ask? He won’t know if he doesn’t ask.   
“How do you be friends? I never had any.”

The ridiculousness of that question has Madara burst out in laughter, dispersing the heavy air between them. “How to be friends?” He repeats, “Oh kami, I don’t know, I’ve never been friends with a ghost!”  
He chuckles, grinning wildly at his new - confused - friend. “I guess it’s not that much different from being friends with any other boy. I’ll start with coming to visit you when I can.” Which reminds him… “Can you come out only at night, or can you walk in daylight too?”

“If I am needed I can walk in the daylight but I would...prefer not to.” How do you tell someone that you don’t wake during the day because it burns your eyes and blisters your skin? How do you tell someone that you’re a ghost even when you’re _not_ a ghost?   
“Please try not to call for me during the day.”  
The earliest he usually rises from bed is late afternoon and only when Hashirama is home to train with him and eat dinner afterwards. Otherwise he rises with the moon, just another reason for the members of his clan to look at him askance. Strange, they call him. He can’t help the way he was born.  
Madara doesn’t seem to think he is strange though. Madara is smiling at him, offering to be his friend. Madara brought him onigiri and thought about him when he was gone. He’s not sure what it’s like to be friends with any other boy, in his companion’s words, but he’s going to try his best to make Madara smile like that again. 

That makes Madara grimace, but he can work with it. “I’ll ask to be permanently put on this patrol route - that’s bound to get me the night shift every now and then.” He looks eastward, where his home is, calculating distances in his head. “It’s a bit of a stretch, but perhaps every now and then I can sneak out to come here. I can’t risk it too often, though, or they’re bound to notice. My little brother will, for sure.”  
And isn’t that a problem in and of its own. “It’ll be hard to stop Izuna from following me, but I think I can manage.”  
Tobirama looks very interested, and quite hopeful too. Being dead must be quite boring, when there are no souls to guide to the Pure Lands.  
“We can… Well, we can talk, that’s for sure. I’ll think we can play some, too.” What could they do together, considering that he a) can’t touch Tobirama and b) doesn’t know how much the ghost can affect reality? “Ball games are out, I guess. Hide and seek is on the table, though, if you promise not to cheat with your ghost powers. Tag, too.”  
An idea strikes him, but his logic quickly kills it, making him deflate. “I don’t guess we can train together, can we? Sure as hell we can’t spar.” He scrounges his nose - hard to practice taijutsu with someone you can’t hit. “Do you even have chakra? Can you still do ninjutsu?”

With a smirk, Tobirama brings his hands together. He sees Madara’s eyes follow the movement, probably expecting him to go through a series of seals. What he doesn’t know is that Tobirama is _damn_ good with his jutsu, he’s trained with them until he doesn’t need the long strings of handseals as a conduit. All he needs is one quick one and a bubble of water gathers unseen above the older boy’s head. Just as Madara looks back to him with a questioning expression he releases his hold on the water, letting it drop down on that spikey head of his.  
Madara howls in anger and Tobirama laughs so hard he nearly falls off the branch he is standing on.  
“Yes, I can still use chakra,” he chortles. Then, because he’s feeling light and playful and he’s enjoying these new feelings, he jumps through space until he is standing just behind the enraged wet puppy. He pulls at a lock of Madara’s hair just the same way he did when he spotted him here earlier tonight. Then he is gone again, flickering away before he can be caught, holding on to a new tree to keep him up as his laughter threatens to fold him in two.

Outraged, Madara shakes his head like a dog, wiping the water off his eyes with his hands. _You little dead shit_! Madara nearly had a stroke at that, both at the water trick and the hair pulling thing.  
The hair pulling shocks him more, though - he’s being groomed to be a deadly fighter on the battlefield, he really doesn’t react well to anyone invading his personal space and causing him any kind of harm like that.  
(His reaction is to lash out and kill, and he doesn’t care he wouldn’t hurt Tobirama anyway, it’s the principle of things: he doesn’t want to see his new friend impaled on his kunai, even if he would just shrug it off. He already has enough nightmare material.)  
He hears Tobirama laughing somewhere above him, on his right, and it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. Checking that the trees aren’t thick enough that he risks setting fire to the whole forest, he sends a small katon in the ghost’s general direction, wanting to get back at him. _See how much he likes ninjutsu, the dirty cheater!_

Tobirama’s mouth is stretched so wide in laughter that it is starting to hurt when the night suddenly lights up, the shadows eaten away by a stream of fire. He’s unable to stop the cry of pain as he turns to the side, eyes burning and sending stabbing pains lancing through his skull.   
He flickers a good distance away, thirty feet or so, to where the darkness is undisturbed and he can hunch over and grasp at his face. It hurts. It feels like several layers of his cornea have been peeled away one by one and the tears he’d successfully held back before trickle out the corners now, beyond his control.  
This is why he does not tread in the sunlight: it’s too painful.  
On instinct his chakra reaches out to the world around him, automatically compensating for the loss of his vision. He feels his clan members in the distance, their chakra slow and steady in slumber, bright stars in the dark landscape of his senses. He feels the animals in the forest going about their nocturnal business. And he feels Madara, his chakra confused as he searches for where Tobirama has gone.  
Tobirama hunkers down closer to the branch that holds him. He tries to open his eyes but they sting too badly and his lids only flutter closed again. His fists clench. He can train and train, get stronger and stronger, and it will never ever matter. He’ll always have this stupid weakness, this horrid chink in his armor.   
Tobirama spares a moment to hate the way he is, the chakra around him seething with pointless, childish anger. 

The katon’s light seriously ruined his night vision, so for a long minute all Madara is does is blinking owlishly at the night, trying to see shapes and shadows again. When he can safely distinguish a tree from the foliage, he looks around for Tobirama, but can’t see him anywhere.  
“Tobirama? Where are you?” he calls, stepping to the very edge of his branch, doing a full turn on himself - but he can’t see white hair anywhere.  
Is the ghost sulking because shove came to push? He shouldn’t have dumped a bucket of water on his head if he wasn’t ready for retribution! Madara has been part of a family of _four brothers_ : when he fights, he fights to win, taking no prisoners.  
“Tobirama? Come on, come out!” Without using an ounce of chakra more than necessary, Madara jumps to a higher branch, in the general direction Tobirama disappeared to. Sure, last time the ghost ran away from his fire, but surely it’s not reason enough to hide and give him a cold shoulder, right? No one can have the upper hand all the time.  
Minutes pass and there’s still no answer. Madara hops from tree to tree, looking for his new friend. It’s probably a useless endeavour: if a ghost doesn’t want to be found, he _won’t_ be found, so maybe he’s better off continuing his patrol and coming back another night when Tobirama won’t have his panties in a twist anymore-  
Something white. In a forest of black and dark green and dark brown, it can only be Tobirama, so without a second thought Madara runs to that tree - only to screech to a sudden halt when he sees that Tobirama is curled in a ball in the nook between two branches, hands covering his face.  
The ghost is obviously trying to make himself as small as possible, and again it strikes Madara just how _young_ the child was when he died.  
The Uchiha heir can read body language alright and can tell right away that Tobirama isn’t sulking but in honest-to-kami pain.  
Fuck, it looks like fire doesn’t simply make him comfortable, but really _hurts_ him.  
Madara feels like shit. He’s getting a painful flashback to that time the pain of a fresh wound wore his patience thin and he slapped Tojiro for bothering him, making him cry. He only wanted to get back at Tobirama, not hurt him!  
“Fuck, sorry,” he says, kneeling at a respectable distance from the ghost - he wouldn’t like to be crowded when in pain, so he’s going to pay the other the same courtesy.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He can’t open his eyes yet which means he can’t take his hands away from his face. Tobirama twitches as he feels Madara approach him but there isn’t really anything he can do. Using his jutsu to jump somewhere else when the fire surprised him had been a risk, one he doesn’t care to take twice. If he tries to flicker away now who knows where he will end up?  
He curls a little tighter at the sound of Madara’s voice.  
An apology? That doesn’t make it better!   
“I thought friends were different,” he growls, voice muffled by his fingers. “I thought friends didn’t hurt you but you’re no different! I didn’t hurt _you_!”  
He’d been so happy to have his very first friend but if this is what it’s like then he might change his mind. He has enough people that hurt him already.  
Except...except he can feel the way Madara’s chakra surges and spikes at his words. He can sense the genuine anguish the other boy feels. He really is sorry for what he’s done, even if he doesn’t understand. He thinks Tobirama is a ghost, a spirit, incorporeal and not physically here. There’s no way he can know that fire and bright lights are the one thing Tobirama cannot abide.  
If it wouldn’t hurt so much he thinks he would roll his eyes. He can feel forgiveness like a slowly unfurling bud in one small corner of his heart. He wants to be mad. He’s in pain so he should get to be mad for a little while longer. But it’s hard when he can sense no malicious intent in Madara.  
Seems he’s not changing his mind after all. That doesn’t mean he won’t let his friend squirm for a minute though.

Madara is slowly starting to suspect this is not a matter of being dead - he thinks Tobirama didn’t have many friends alive either. Friends are stupid, doing things that make you want to pull your hair out (and theirs too, if given a chance) all the time. He’s been friends with Mariko and Shisui and Ryu forever, and no week passes without him being tempted to just smite them to ashes and be done with it.  
Sighing, Madara sits cross legged, still out of range. Tobirama still hasn’t pulled his hands away from his face, so he can’t see if he actually has burns or not. It must hurt, though.  
“The last time someone came up behind me and pulled my hair, he had a sword in hand and put it to my throat. I gutted him.” His voice is flat and unapologetic, just stating a fact. “That happened two weeks ago. I don’t react well to being startled. I’m sorry.”

Oh. Well. Doesn’t Tobirama just feel like an ass now? Here he is moping about what Madara doesn’t know about him and he’s never considered what he doesn’t know about Madara.   
“I’m sorry too,” he admits. The words taste strange. He’s been taught never to apologize but he can see that he’s done something wrong. They both have.   
Behind the protective shield of his cupped hands he slowly blinks his eyes open. They still sting but the tears have stopped leaking. He hopes it’s too dark to see the tear tracks on his face as he lowers his hands at last and cautiously looks over to see Madara sitting not too close, his body language casual and open.   
He purses his lips, feeling a bit awkward. Normally when he fights with someone they don’t stick around afterwards so he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do next. So far, asking questions hasn’t really steered him wrong. He supposes he doesn’t mind asking another one.   
“Do friends fight? I mean...I hurt you but I didn’t mean to. And then you hurt me and you...I don’t think you meant to. Do friends hurt each other?”

So his initial impression wasn’t wrong. “You didn’t have many friends the first time over, did you?” Madara muses loudly, shooting Tobirama an amused look. “Yes, friends fight, and quite often too. Kami only knows how many times Mariko drove me spare with her snide remarks. She has the tendency to make me look like an idiot.”  
He huffs, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. “Shisui and I tend to solve our problems with our fists. He doesn’t like that I make him land on his ass most of the time, so he tries to trick me - and I beat him harder.” A contemplative hum. “I don’t fight much with Ryu. He’s the kind of guy you just never want to fight, you know? He’s so nice and patient you feel guilty trying to pick a fight with him. Also, he already un-” _Unlocked his sharingan, so he’s got an unfair advantage_ , he’s about to say, but he manages to catch himself in time. He’s not to give any clues about his Clan.  
“Are you better?” he asks instead, seeing that Tobirama is finally showing his face again. “Does it hurt?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to explain himself, to tell Madara that bright things hurt him, that fire is his mortal enemy. He wants to say it because he wants to trust Madara. If they are friends then they should trust each other.   
He can’t get the words out though. He thinks of all the lectures he’s had to endure about keeping himself a secret and protecting the clan at all costs. It’s why they won’t let him fight, why they won’t let him leave. His weakness makes him a liability to others, which means he can’t protect others and must rely on them to protect him instead.   
So he swallows his explanation and nods his head slowly, turning his mind instead to the contemplation of Madara’s words. He’d thought friends weren’t supposed to fight but it does kind of make sense. No one can get along _all_ the time and if siblings can fight and still love each other then friends can too.   
He always feels better once things make sense, so Tobirama offers Madara a smile.  
“I’m okay now.” He doesn’t want to address the pain. It’s fading and it was an accident. Soon it will be no more than a memory. “I’m sorry I pulled your hair. I won’t do it any more. I just thought it was funny.” 

Madara snorts loudly. “Well, it’s _not_. Also - I can’t return the favor. It’s not fair.”  
That makes Tobirama chuckle, so the Uchiha heir considers himself forgiven. The ghost shoots him a small smile, which Madara returns with one of his wild ones.  
The two stay in companionable silence for a long time, Tobirama slowly uncurling from his fetal position as the pain goes away (and really, everyone knows that holy barriers hurt ghosts, so it should have been obvious that fire, the purifying element by excellence, would hurt ghosts as well).  
Madara relaxes his stance, letting one leg swing from the branch, his eyes roaming from his silent friend to the night sky dotted with stars.  
“Hey Tobirama,” eventually prompts, causing the ghost to look up sharply. “I have questions about my brothers. You know…” Madara’s voice fades as he tries to order his jumbled thoughts into comprehensible words. “How were they when they traveled to the Pure Lands? Were they sad? Were they in pain? Were they there to see what happened after their death?”

For a few moments the only thing in Tobirama’s head as he stares at his companion is a string of panicky ‘shitshitshitshit’. Why didn’t he plan for this? How could he not have planned for this?  
He tries not to let his frantically racing thoughts show on his face but then of course the only things left is for him to look sad. The subject saddens him, so of course he looks it. He looks away and plays with the leaves closest to him, not pulling them from their stems but rather creating tension in their twigs and letting them bounce back into place as he tries to think of what to say. It has to be something that sounds peaceful because he wants Madara to have happy thoughts of his brothers. At the same time, though, they’re talking about the day those brothers died. It’s not exactly a happy thing to talk about.  
“Not all spirits are sad to pass on,” he says, because he thinks it must be true. “And there was no pain. They are past the pain when they go on, travelling to the next realm.” The last part he pulls completely out of his ass, “They would have seen what happened if they looked back but I try to encourage most spirits not to look back. Regrets are what keep them here, after all.”  
There, he thinks. That sounded...alright. Maybe. He sneaks a peek at Madara to see how he did.

Madara gives a trembling sigh, carding a hand through his rebellious hair as he is wont to do when upset. He finds Tobirama’s answer to be lacking, but his words do bring him a modicum of comfort.  
He’s tempted to ask what’s it like in the Pure Lands, how his brothers are doing, but he doesn’t. It’s not fair of him to ask someone whose soul is stuck on earth such a question.  
“Thanks,” he mumbles after a long moment. “I’m glad they didn’t linger to watch. What happened after their death was… They wouldn’t be happy with me.” They wouldn’t have liked to see Madara’s madness - they wouldn’t have recognized their brother in the way he tore through enemy ninja, leaving a river of blood behind him, half-crazed with grief and totally disregarding his own safety.  
He killed seven Senju the day Tojiro was murdered, all older than him.  
It didn’t bring his little brother back.  
It didn’t make his pain any lesser.  
Madara shakes his head - the warm summer breeze has already mostly dried his hair. “Thank you,” he repeats, mustering a smile for his friend. 

Tobirama smiles back, the expression freezing on his face when he feels his stomach rumble. He never did get to eat that second onigiri and he’s suddenly very aware of just how hungry he still is. A quick glance at the sky tells him that there are only a few hours of darkness left. Wherever Madara was supposed to be tonight he has little time to get there.  
“The night is almost over,” he mentions. “You would do well to complete your patrol while you still have time.”  
Madara looks surprised as he too appears to notice how long they have spent together. Tobirama shifts on his branch.  
“You’re...going to come visit me again sometime, right?”

“Sure thing,” he answers as he stands up and stretches, hearing a few vertebrae popping with great satisfaction. “I can’t promise when, though. Everytime I pass by I’ll call for you, how does that sound?” A quick glance to the moon tells him that he’s going to need to run to complete the patrol in time.  
This time it’s Tobirama’s turn to crane his head up to look at him. The ghost sits placidly, not looking any worse for the wear. Madara is glad he didn’t hurt him bad.  
“See you, Tobirama,” Madara says, waving at him as he jumps off the redwood tree and follows the call of duty.


	3. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set three years after the previous chapter.  
> Tobirama and Madara are still friends, meeting every time they can in the forest.  
> As time passes they slowly start to fall for each other - but neither says anything because Tobirama’s lie forever separates them.

Madara: Holly & Tobirama: Rae

 

The wind in his ears sounds so much better than the ringing of steel he’s been hearing for the past several hours. He hasn’t slept much over the last few months, putting every extra moment he can into training. He’s going to _fight_. He’s going to be _free_. He’s going to leave the Senju compound and his small section of forest for the first time in his life and he’s been training extra hard to be prepared.  
He rises at sunsets and trains on his own for the whole night - and when the sun rises, he keeps training under his father’s watch, either in the darkened dojo or outside, practicing fighting with a blindfold.  
Tobirama locks onto Madara’s approaching chakra with ease, his senses advanced far past where they were when he first met his one and only friend. His body is aching for him to fall into bed but he hasn’t seen Madara in weeks. The moment he sensed him he dropped everything and ran to change, slipping out of his home with practiced ease. (He keeps several copies of the clothes he first met Madara with, for the sole purpose of not being outed. His friend is exceptionally aware of details.)  
His speed has improved quite a bit as well so it’s easy to beat the other adolescent to their usual meeting spot. He drops himself down low, hiding his body in a thick patch of budding leaves and erasing all sense of his presence.   
Only a few minutes later a tall body alights gently just ten feet away and Tobirama anxiously takes in the sight of him.  
Madara looks just the same as ever, no worse for wear. Years of training have given him incredible muscles and his face has lost all the baby fat it had once carried. His hair is getting stupidly long and Tobirama wouldn’t admit in a million years that he likes it. He thinks it must feel like silk but he knows better than to try and touch it.  
Tobirama sighs. Look but don’t touch. The story of his life.  
He opens his mouth, moments away from revealing himself and greeting his friend after too long apart, then freezes, his eyes riveted on Madara’s exposed collarbone. He knows what those are, even if he’s never had occasion to figure out how they get there.   
Madara has _love bites_. He’s been...someone has…  
His jaw snaps shut with an audible click and grinds his teeth together, white hot jealousy burning through him and rooting him in place.

Travel rations suck, there is no way around that. Madara shoots a resigned look at the sad excuse for food and takes another bite, trying his best to ignore the taste. They may be practical to eat on the run but they taste like cardboard. He was told they’re made with honey but that’s obviously a filthy, filthy lie.  
Disgruntled, Madara stops on a high branch to pull out his canteen and drinks a few sips of water to wash that monstrosity down - he’s supposed to be leaving for a mission and he skipped dinner to meet with Tobirama beforehand, so he has to make do with what he has.  
He doesn’t have any offerings today, there simply wasn’t any time to grab any food from the kitchen - he hopes the ghost won’t mind.   
Madara crosses his arms over his chest and waits for Tobirama to come to him: the ghost always knows where to find him.  
The Uchiha heir is very glad Tobirama is dead, sometimes. Any living ninja with chakra sensing abilities on par with the ghost’s would be a terrible enemy for his clan.  
No matter how much he strains his eyes or his ears, Madara can’t catch any glimpse of his pale friend, so he unshoulders his gunbai, leaning it against the trunk. Looks like he can get comfortable, Tobirama is probably busy with his guide duties.  
Glancing at the night sky, Madara gives the ghost half an hour before he really needs to leave.  
Before the five minutes mark, Madara is already yawning wide. Yamanaka Dansei kept him up most of the previous night: he’s running on caffeine and stubbornness alone by this point.  
Not that he’s regretting the lost hours of sleep. They were totally worth it.  
Suddenly, as his usual, Tobirama appears on the closest branch of the oak.  
“Hello,” he waves, smiling at his friend - friend who’s the reason he fell in bed with Dansei to begin with.  
Tobirama is _dead_ , he’s a _ghost_ , nothing but the imprint of a soul lingering on earth - Madara shouldn’t be in love with him. It’s wrong, it’s blasphemous - and most of all, it’s useless and it’s doing nothing but hurt Madara.  
It’s all Tobirama’s fault. If he were like all other ghosts, Madara would have never been attracted to him: but instead of staying a kid, after some time the ghost started to _grow older_. Oh, it was a slow thing, and he didn’t age quite like a human, but his looks changed nonetheless. The Tobirama Madara is facing now is much taller than he was three years ago, what little fat he had on his cheeks left him, his shoulders squaring, muscles thickening his arms and legs.   
He looks undeniably like a teenager, and Madara can’t help the vague coil of want in his guts as he gives his friend a once-over.  
Even if he looks like someone who fell in a bleach tub, he’s _attractive_ , and it’s messing with Madara’s mind because trust him to fall for someone so far out of his reach he could have very well fallen in love with the moon.  
Tobirama is pretty and smart and snarky and fun and Madara _can’t touch him_.  
Myo knows, of course. Who else could Madara turn to? ‘Hey, I’m crushing on a ghost. Any advice?’ Yeah, that would go over well with his Clan. They’d march to the forest to exorcise Tobirama, fearing he put their precious heir under a curse.  
Myo didn’t suggest exorcising his friend, but it was a near thing. She tried to keep a smile on her face, but Madara could see she was worried for him - Myo has been suspicious of Tobirama since day one. Her suggestion was to finally give in to Dansei’s flirting and try to forget his attraction to the ghost by tasting what real sex was like.  
Looking at Tobirama, standing only a few meters away, pale skin washed by moonlight, Madara isn’t sure it was enough.

Control. He needs only to repeat the word to himself once for the familiar calm expression to be settled on his face. His insides are a maelstrom of confusion and anger and _who touched you, you’re **mine**_ \- but none of it shows. Jutsu aren’t the only things he has spent the last few years training. Tobirama’s self-control is nearly legendary in his clan nowadays; it’s part of what convinced them that at fifteen years old he is finally ready to face the outside world.   
Even now in his mid-teens he hasn’t grown quite as much as he should have - one of the points that works against him as far as the elders is concerned. But it’s something that works in his favor when it comes to Madara. It took the other boy a long time to even realize that Tobirama looked older, for his growth spurts weren’t exactly spectacular so far.  
When the other _did_ finally notice, Tobirama pulled some quick thinking and made something up about his spirit needing to grow into the ninja he should have become in order to pass on, because maturity would help his spirit leave his grudges and guilt behind and join the Pure Lands.  
He left it vague and made it sound important and mysterious, not wanting to invite too many detailed questions.   
Seeing the love bites on Madara’s neck suddenly highlights for Tobirama just how much his friend has been growing as well and it rankles. He wonders if Madara still thinks of him as a lost child spirit, no matter that his body has grown. Just another way his own lies keep coming back to bite him in the ass.  
He returns Madara’s casual greeting with a slight nod, breathing in and breathing out, not allowing his eyes to fixate on those damning marks. Let Madara think he has no interest in them. He _shouldn’t_ have any interest in them.  
“You look tired,” he notes, concern bleeding in and overriding the anger. Madara looks as sleepless as Tobirama feels, although Madara’s never worn exhaustion quite as gracefully as he does. “You’ve not visited in weeks. Have you not slept even once in that time?”   
He crosses his arms and raises one eyebrow, affecting a sardonic tone to mask just how worried he truly is.   
Control. Conceal. Be calm and be collected. Tobirama has built himself into an island where it looks like no one can touch him. There are many who would be shocked to know just how close to shore his island truly is.

As if on point, another yawn emerges from the deepest corner of his soul, making him open his jaws wide like a crocodile. “Forgive me if we lowly mortals have to sleep, oh mighty ghost,” he snarks at Tobirama, who’s looking at him with a decidedly unimpressed expression. The little shit, dead as he is, never misses a chance to rub in the fact that he doesn’t have to sleep - the only times _he_ yawns is to silently tell Madara he’s boring him.  
Madara adores the white-haired asshole. It must be some ghostly powers, for there is no other reason he would ever come to like such a sarcastic asshole the way he does.   
“I did sleep, I just didn’t sleep much in the past two days - and I won’t tonight either, I have way too many miles to cover before dawn.” Well, he _did_ go to bed last night - just not his own, and not to sleep.  
The thought makes him chuckle, bringing up memories of Dansei. He likes the Yamanaka - he’s alright, for someone who’s not Uchiha. (Even if he kind of is an Uchiha - Dansei’s twin Momoko married into the Uchiha clan and Dansei just adopted himself into the clan, refusing to be parted from his twin. He’s a good fighter, so no one complained.)  
Dansei is not Tobirama but maybe Myo is right - maybe Madara just needs to know him better. Give him a few chances. 

Well _obviously_ he didn’t sleep much last night. When Madara’s eyes close with another yawn Tobirama allows his gaze to slip downward, tracing the love bites again and fighting the urge to reach out a hand glowing with iryo chakra. He wants them gone. He wants to never see something like that on the young man ever again.   
But he doesn’t own Madara. Madara does not belong to him in any way and he is all too aware that the impossibility of it is mostly his fault. It’s been too long for him to reveal himself now. He’s doomed himself to an endless lie that prevents him from taking the one thing he has ever wanted for himself.   
Madara chuckles and there is an edge to it that Tobirama has only ever heard from one person before; he hears it all the time from his second and third cousins, the ones that have different partners leaving their doors every morning. He’s even heard it from his brother on the rare occasions he gets too deep into his cups and spots a pretty girl. He knows that chuckle - and he’s never much liked the implications.  
He has to grit his teeth again before he can answer, latching on to the change of subject like a lifeline.   
“You have a mission, then? You’ve been gone longer between visits lately. You seem to be getting more and more missions.”

He nods, patting the branch beside him in invitation. “Yes. The Elders feel that the war is about to turn, and they’ve been accepting more missions, and farther.” He doesn’t say that this is particularly true for him, the Uchiha heir - he’s always been careful not to let Tobirama guess either his clan or his rank. Madara and Izuna are hailed as the strongest pair of their generation - possibly of all generations yet - and their father is sending them off to battle as often as he can, to make all clans know their names and fear them.  
The only ninja their age who can rival the Uchiha brothers is Hashirama - and wasn’t that a shock, when Madara and the Senju heir first met on the battlefield, discovering in the most traumatic way that they belonged to Clans divided by a blood feud.  
(Madara and Hashirama pretended not to know each other, then ran to their secret spot at the Naka River as soon as they were back home. Madara brought Izuna with him, because this was too big a secret to keep it from his brother. It took a while to sort out, but eventually the two heirs decided that their surnames wouldn’t stop them from achieving their dreams and swore to make peace between the Senju and the Uchiha when they would become Clan Heads. Their alliance would be the spark that would change the whole world.)  
Shaking his head free of the worries that come with his position of heir, Madara shoots Tobirama a lopsided smile. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit much. Miss me?”  
Kami knows he did. He missed Tobirama very much, surrounded by people who are so much slower than him - both physically and mentally. He doesn’t have to worry about upholding his heir status with Tobirama, he doesn’t have to weigh his words, lest he shows weakness. It’s freeing. Tobirama is his escape from the demands of his birth.

Tobirama hesitates at the offer to sit close. Madara knows better than to try and touch him but he isn’t so confident in his own mental state at the moment. He’s a little afraid that he might just reach out and-  
Control. Fantasies are better left in the bedroom.  
He sits beside Madara with a quiet sigh and tilts his head back to watch the leaves above them rustle in a light breeze.   
“You are my only friend,” he points out. “I always miss you when you’re gone.”   
It’s true, even if he’s trying not to convey just how true. He aches for Madara with every day they are apart. He pictures that wild grin as something to fight for while he’s training, something to live for when his home life becomes so overwhelming he wonders if maybe it isn’t time to truly become a ghost.   
This young man is the highest point of his life, the shining moments that he lives for in between long stretches of loneliness. Hashirama helps, of course. He’s gotten closer to his brother now that he pays attention to him. But Hashirama doesn’t understand him, doesn’t treat him like he’s just...a person. Madara thinks him a ghost but he still treats him like a person. Hashirama wants him wrapped in pillows, for Kami’s sake.   
Tobirama narrows his eyes. He’ll have his chance soon. He’s almost been declared ready. Soon it will be his turn to leave for battle, to fight and protect his comrades, to earn the respect and freedom so long denied him.  
Maybe by the time that happens he’ll have figured out how to tell Madara the truth.

Madara snorts at the long hesitance before Tobirama sits beside him - does the ghost still think he’s luring him to try and touch him? Madara is seventeen, kami, not fourteen anymore! He’s more mature than that. He understood his lessons about privacy.  
Tobirama’s words make him smile, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine he can feel a warm shoulder pressed against his, can feel the gentle tickling of short hair against his cheek.  
In his dreams, Tobirama is always warm, his skin soft and supple under his hands. By now Madara doesn’t even try to picture what colouring he might have had in life: there is no colour that would suit Tobirama better than white and red.   
The Uchiha heir glances at the ghost, admiring the sharp profile of his nose and chin, the slanted curve of his eyes. The more he appears to grow, the sharper Tobirama becomes, both in personality and in appearance.  
Madara feels a sudden surge of hate for the nameless ninja who killed him, stealing such a great potential from the world. From him.  
“I wish you could move. Myo would let you haunt the family shrine, if you wanted.”

Tobirama snorts at the very idea.   
“Yes, because having more people shy away from me in fright is just what I need. I’d _love_ to come haunt your family shrine.”    
That’s just what he wants, more people to point and call him a ghost. He shakes his head in sardonic amusement. While he would love to spend more days with Madara, to see where he lived and be a bigger part of his life than just ‘that spirit I visit sometimes’, he knows it would be more trouble than it was worth.   
Avoiding one person’s touch is easier than avoiding a whole family. He can’t imagine that Madara is the norm, that all the others would be so kind and accepting. He also can’t imagine his own family’s reaction if he simply vanished one day with no trace, no explanation. Hashirama would tear the world apart to find him, worried for his safety. Butsuma would tear the world apart to find him too, to make sure his shame is still a secret.   
“Besides, I’m sort of stuck here. Why don’t you move instead?” he says, feeling a bit whimsical now that he’s not looking at the source of his jealous anger. “Your family can’t be all that big. Just pack them all up and tell them you’ve found somewhere nicer to live. I’ll even make sure you have trees for wood. You can build new homes.”   
He doesn’t mention that Hashirama would be the one providing the trees. It’s really not that important. 

The hilarious ridiculousness of that suggestion makes Madara burst out laughing, almost falling off his perch. “Move my clan!” he cries, choking on air. “Oh kami, that’s a good one. My Clan has been living on those lands for centuries - the Elders are _never_ going to move their sorry asses.” Shoulders still shaking with mirth, he raises a thumb up to the ghost. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll pass. I don’t want a civil war on my hands for suggesting something so _blasphemous_.”  
While he agrees with Hashirama that Uchiha and Senju should come to a peace treaty, Madara has always been dubious of his friend’s dream of building a joined Village - he can understand the appeal of it, but most of Fire’s ninja clans have long since abandoned their nomadic ways and are unlikely to be willing to leave their ancestral homes.   
One step at a time: first peace, then perhaps a Village. The cessation of useless deaths has the precedence.  
Deep in thought about the future, Madara absently rubs the back of his nape - and in doing so he remembers the marks he’s wearing in plain sight. He got _so much shit_ from his friends (and Izuna) when they saw the love bites Dansei left. Wearing a turtleneck would have probably been wiser, but there he goes. That’s traditional Uchiha clothes for you.  
It’s not like there’s anything to hide: safe in knowing his son is bisexual and thus still on the market for a future marriage, his father can’t begrudge him a roll in the sheets to destress (especially when it can’t result in bastards).

Madara’s movements bring Tobirama’s attention back to his neck, back to those disgusting marks on his skin. He has to remind himself again not to show how he truly feels about them.  
For one absurd moment he wonders what Madara would think of knowing that a ‘ghost’ is jealous, that a ‘ghost’ wants to be the one to put those love bites on him, to sink teeth into his skin and dig bruises into his hips.   
He breathes through his nose, swallows thickly. Control. Deflect. Focus on something else. What were they talking about?  
“Why would they be so unwilling to move? What’s wrong with building a new home if the new location is better, more beneficial?”  
The elders of his own clan are of the same opinion and he’s never understood it. It’s not as if he can ask for an explanation either; they like to pretend he doesn’t exist and simply look somewhere else when he speaks.   
His eyes slide back to Madara’s neck and the hand that his friend can’t see clenches in a tight fist, imagining he is holding the throat of whoever it was that made them.

“It’s our home. It’s where we were born, where we grew up - where our loved ones rest,” Madara says, used to having to explain things he takes for granted to his friend - who either lost most of his people skills in death or never had them to begin with in life. (Probably the latter.)  
“It’s hard to leave that behind. For all our lives, those walls have been the single safe place in this war. Our history is deeply embedded in the soil we built our houses on. We are part of the land.”   
He smiles at Tobirama’s confused look. “For all that you can uproot a plant and plant it somewhere else, there’s always some risk. What if the roots don’t take? What if the soil isn’t as good as it looked? It’s scary, facing the unknown - you should know that. There is comfort in what you know.”  
He’s not talking about his clan anymore, and they both know it. The more years pass, the more Madara thinks Tobirama doesn’t want to go on to the Pure Lands. The ghost has become comfortable in his half-life - Madara thinks Tobirama is afraid to meet his family on the other side.  
The worst thing is, Madara is glad Tobirama isn’t eager to leave. It’s selfish of him, but he wants Tobirama close. He doesn’t want to wait to die to see him again.

Feeling contrary, Tobirama can’t resist a bit of snark.  
“Oh and here I was thinking you could bring the earth with you with just a really big doton.” He gives Madara a flat look which is returned in kind.   
With a huff he turns away.  
“I suppose you’re stuck with just visiting then - until you get bored of me, I suppose. Seems as if you’ve been finding entertainment elsewhere, lately.”   
He wants to hit himself over the head. He hadn’t meant to say that and he prays to gods he doesn’t believe in that Madara thinks he’s just referring to the increasing amounts of time they spend apart. 

There’s venom in Tobirama’s words, more so than his usual old-man-y grumpiness. Madara shoots him a baffled glance, raising an eyebrow. While he’s pleased Tobirama wants to spend more time together, it’s unlike him to resent Madara for putting his family first - the ghost understands familial duty more than anyone else.  
“Geez, did someone stick something in your grave? Why so cranky today?” Madara’s grin gets wicked. “Or maybe you’re the one who wants to do the sticking? You should get laid. Find a nice girl ghost and... liven up a little, you know.”  
Tobirama glares daggers at him, which only makes Madara laugh.

“I don’t _want_ a ‘nice ghost girl’” he growls, standing with both fists clenched now. “And it looks like you’re the one getting laid already. So tell me, what do you suppose I would gain from following in your fumbling footsteps, hm? Are you sure she was _satisfied_?”   
Tobirama flickers away to another branch a few feet away, no longer trusting himself to stay so close. He wants to press Madara up against the tree, to put his hands on him and show him he is better than any stupid girl could ever be.  
It isn’t just self-preservation and a years-long lie that stops him. He knows very well that he probably wouldn’t be any better than just any stupid girl. He’s never so much as had his first kiss. What would he know of the bedroom arts? Madara would probably laugh at him even if he were able to try.  
He’s so angry he can barely even look at Madara, the shadows of the night nearly swallowing him, blending in with his edges. His friend is dark in looks and sometimes he is dark in his personality too. Tobirama feels a little dark himself at the moment, ironic considering his coloring. 

That was a low blow, and Madara jumps to his feet, prickly like a bird with its feathers ruffled up.   
(It doesn’t help any the fact that Madara is still embarrassed he came so fast during the foreplay. Dansei laughed it off, taking it as a compliment to his skills, but Madara was _mortified_. Thank kami he managed to last a bit longer when they actually had sex - both when he bottomed and when the Yamanaka let him top.)  
On top of that embarrassment… Is Tobirama _jealous_ Madara can get laid?  
The Uchiha heir is wounded, because he would have never thought Tobirama would resent him for being alive when he’s not.   
“For your information, given how _he didn’t let me leave his bed until morning_ , I’d say that Dansei was quite happy with me. He surely didn’t complain while he had me underneath him. Or when I had him ride me,” he says, his words heated and sharp - when Tobirama is angry, he gets all cold and biting, but Madara gets hot like a volcano, burning everything in his rage.

His entire body feel as if he’s been plunged beneath the surface of a river in the dead of winter. He feels as cold as people tell him his heart is.  
 _Himhimhimhimhimhimhim_. Madara slept with another _boy_. He likes _boys_. The last safety net against Tobirama’s obsession with his friend crumbles and rots, falling away and leaving him grasping for something to hold on to, to stop the spinning sensation in his gut.   
Possibilities and questions flood him before he can stop them - he’s never been able to stop them, his mind is quick and it’s always asking questions. If Madara knew he was real would it be different? Would he think of him differently? Could Madara learn to think of him that way? Would he have a chance to touch, to taste, to devour, to consume?  
He realizes suddenly that he is panting, his breath coming quick and shallow. Still he glares. How dare Madara dangle the one thing he wants most right in front of his eyes? How dare he flaunt himself in such a manner?   
How dare he be so gloriously perfect, so close and yet so far?  
“Leave,” he says, his voice as quiet and steady as it always is when true anger takes a hold of him. “Leave this place. I refuse to listen to such...such _impurity_!” 

Ever since Kaito died, Madara has been groomed to be the next clan head: he’s an alpha male born and bred, and he does _not_ react well to being given orders. He’s already chafing under his father’s strict rule, and he won’t stand for his friend to order him around, ghost or not ghost.  
Madara is not a good person. His temper is quick to explode, and a lifetime of fighting has taught him not to hold back, so he lashes out at his friend, snide remarks coming easily. “What, don’t you want to hear more? It’s not like you know much about sex, do you? Unless you spied on couples sneaking into the woods to have a quickie, of course.”  
He gives Tobirama a lecherous grin - a darker, more twisted version of the smirk he graced a naked Dansei with. If talking of sex makes the ghost uncomfortable, then Madara is ready to flaunt what (little) sex life he has, he’s ready to resort to vulgarity if it gets a rise in the other.  
“Don’t you want to hear what’s it like to be blown? What’s it like to have someone swallow your cock and then swallow your cum? What’s it like to be spread open and to be fucked into the mattress? Or perhaps you want to know what’s it like to have someone bounce on your cock and ride you into oblivion? I can tell you, don’t be _shy_.”

“I do not wish to know,” - a lie.  
“Because I will never know,” - a probable truth.  
“You forget yourself, human.” Tobirama is angry and he will use every weapon at his disposal. His best weapon against Madara is his spiritual status of Long Dead.   
“You forget that it is I who guide the dead. You forget that it is I who yearns for life even as I lead the others from it. You do not know what it is to want and wish and know that your desires will never be fulfilled. You forget that you visit this forest at _my pleasure_.”  
It feels disgusting and horrible and wrong to be what he is and he hates that Madara, his one friend and the single untainted happiness in his life, has made him feel this way. He hates it with every fiber of his being because Madara is usually what takes that feeling away and he feels cheated somewhere deep down, below the ice-cold rage and the fire-hot jealousy.   
He bites his tongue against a comment about Madara’s lost siblings. He will not go that far, not even in the worst of his anger. There are lines one does not cross. That doesn’t stop him from thinking it though.  
‘I’m the one who brought you peace,’ he thinks. ‘And now you take mine away.’

At the beginning of their friendship, Madara was in almost constant awe of the ghost - he was talking with a supernatural creature, how cool was that? (One that didn’t want to eat him, either!) Back then Madara tried his best to mind his words, lest he awakened the ghost’s anger, afraid of the curses Tobirama might lay on him.  
But things changed. Madara has known his friend for more than three years and doesn’t fear him anymore: for him, Tobirama isn’t a _ghost_ , he’s just a person he can’t touch who happens to have the biological clock of an owl. He sometimes _forgets_ Tobirama is a ghost entirely.  
(That’s what got him in this trouble to begin with. If he hadn’t blurred the boundaries, he wouldn’t be here pining for something he can’t have.)  
“And you forget that it’s not my fault you’re dead. You can’t resent me for living and enjoying the pleasures of life, Tobirama!”  
Tobirama is his friend, and if any of his friends is an ass, Madara has no qualms about telling them so.

Tobirama wishes he could make the other understand just how utterly painful this topic of conversation is to him.    
“I deny you nothing,” he ground out between his teeth. “I resent you for nothing. Your happiness has always been my own and I am...glad...that you are...enjoying your life.” If those weren’t the hardest words he’s ever had to choke out, he can’t imagine something harder. “But there are things I do not wish to hear. Go speak of your conquests to Izuna or your stupid bowl-cut friend, perhaps one of them will be impressed. Do not speak of them to me.”   
(It galls him to send Madara off to his own brother, to gift Madara’s time to someone else, especially when he’s never mentioned to Madara that he knows his ‘stupid bowl-cut friend’. Nor has he mentioned to Hashirama that he knows about the boy from the riverside - knows him and loves him. Madara is the only thing he has for himself, and he doesn’t want to _share_ with his sibling.)   
He can admit that he probably should have phrased that as a request but he’s too angry and he hopes Madara gets that. They have known each other for years now; Madara knows his temper and the edges it gives him, the sharpness of his words and his gazes that will not smooth over until he has regained his calm.   
‘Please,’ he thinks desperately, throwing the silent words across the space that separates them. ‘Please stop breaking my heart.’   
He watches Madara’s face, hoping to see any sign of understanding there. He doesn’t want to fight. His friend is leaving on a mission and he knows all too well that every mission could be someone’s last.    
He knows too much the feeling of memories that fade. He doesn’t want Madara to be one of them. Doesn’t know what he would do if he never got to see that smile again.  
(Kami let him smile again) 

Madara growls, carding a hand through his hair, very close to pulling at it in his frustration. Why does Tobirama have to be an ass when he could have just _said_ that!?  
He likes the guy, but _kami_ if he wants to punch him in the face sometimes!  
“If it makes you uneasy, then just _tell me so_. _Don’t_ be an ass and get all high and mighty on me, pulling the venerable ghost thing. You don’t give a fuck about impurity - you’re a guide for lost souls and no ninja above twelve is pure in any sense of the word. You’d be out of a job if you cared about _purity_.”  
Madara’s temper is as quick to rise as it is to subside - on the contrary of Tobirama, who can nurse a grudge for years, the Uchiha vents out his anger and quickly forgives (though not always he does forget) - and this time is no different: Madara sees Tobirama give a slow nod and sighs, considering the issue closed.  
“Good,” he snorts, giving his friend a quirky smile. “Now, come back here, don’t make me shout.”  
He flops back to sitting, chuckling - and he may, perhaps, be feeling a bit awkward. “Sorry for my words. It wasn’t nice of me to brag about getting laid when you can’t get any pussy.” Tobirama makes an offended grimace, and Madara voluntarily misreads his expression - he knows well Tobirama doesn’t like vulgarities and obscenities, but he can’t resist teasing the ghost. “What? Pussy is not for you? Cock, then. I’m sorry I bragged I got some and you didn’t.”

Deigning to come a little bit closer, Tobirama refuses to sit down. Nor does he go back to such close proximity with his friend. What he does do is level Madara with a _look_.   
“You apologize and yet in the very next sentence you attempt to stoke my anger again. Did your mother perhaps drop you on your head as a child?”   
Madara rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and Tobirama takes a deep breath. He’s still angry and those marks are still on prominent display. He can’t make the waves of jealousy go away but he repeats his mantra and forces himself back into the iron hold of his near-perfect self control.   
“I’m sorry for my words as well. You’re right; I should have just asked you not to speak of such things. I would...much prefer not to hear about your, er, exploits.”   
Then, because he knows Madara takes delight in every moment of childishness from someone as uptight as himself, he adds, “And I’m not an ass. _You’re_ an ass.” He pairs it with a huff and a turning up of his nose for dramatic effect.   
This is the only person he feels free enough to be silly with. He could never admit it out loud but he enjoys these moments just as much as his friend does, if only for the laughter that is his usual reward. 

Madara can't help it: he laughs, long and loud, because no one insults him with as much _seriousness_ as Tobirama, and there's something hilarious about a scrawny teenager enunciating insults with the solemnity usually reserved for the words of ancient philosophers.  
“Oh kami, but I love you,” he sniggers into his hands.  
(That's something he usually tells Izuna when he's being adorably insufferable, and it leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth. As much as he tries to tell himself it's only an expression of familiarity, he can't deny there is a self-harming pleasure in saying it out loud - because a joke is all it'll ever be.)

Tobirama nearly loses his footing and his entire body halts, like his very being is holding its breath. He can’t have heard that right.    
‘He doesn’t love you’, he scornfully tells himself. ‘It’s just an expression. Get a grip.’   
He opens his mouth to say something - anything - and what falls out is, “I’m rather fond of you myself.” Because he can’t not say it back. It’s all he wants to hear and all he wants to say.    
(He’ll hear it on repeat in his mind later, in the comfort of solitude where it is easiest to pretend.)   
Madara looks at him and he dredges up a smile, feeling lightheaded from so many different emotions in such a short amount of time. His friend will be the death of him but oh what a sweet way to go. 

Coming from Tobirama, that's high praise indeed, Madara knows it.   
He knows it, and yet when Tobirama doesn't return his words he feels a bit like he jumped expecting to land on a branch and fell into the void instead.   
He tightens his fist in self-directed frustration. He's better than that, trying to trick a ghost into telling him he loves Madara.  
Tobirama is looking at him with a sort of detached smile, a small, private thing.  
Uchiha are greedy when it comes to emotions. When they love, they love with mad abandon and utter jealousy, and Madara is starting to see the truth behind his mother's tales.  
Madara doesn't want Tobirama's empty words. Madara wants the heat he sees in those red eyes when Tobirama is angry - he wants that heat focused on him, always.  
He wants to hold Tobirama's pale body close, wants to see if he's white all over, wants to paint red marks on that blank canvas.  
He can't, because destiny likes to toy with him, dangling what he can't have in front of his face - sadistically and ironically doing much like he himself did with the ghost by flaunting his sexual experience.  
Izuna is right: for all his might in battle, Madara can't change the fact that he can't have what he wants. His younger brother met Tobirama a few times over the years (after a lot of begging, because his ghost friend is a terrible grumpy ass who hates strangers with a passion) and seemed to approve of him, saying that it was good for Madara to have a friend outside the clan - but ever since he got Madara to admit that he had a crush on Tobirama, Izuna has been worried for him.  
Izuna keeps dropping hints that he should let it go, but Madara can’t.  
Trying to keep a smile on his face, Madara rises to his feet, shouldering his gunbai. “Time to go,” he cheerfully tells Tobirama, waving at him. “A lot of road to cover tonight.”  
Madara knows he won't be able to stay away for long, no matter how much Myo pleads with him. But for tonight, Madara just cannot take any more pining.  
“See you soon!” Are his last words as he departs, leaving his heart behind.

Tobirama watches him go until he is out of sight, then his body falls back against the trunk of his tree and slumps down into a crouched position. He closes his eyes and extends his senses, feeling Madara’s chakra signature as it gets farther and farther from him at a steady pace. His chakra has a warmth to it that Tobirama is already feeling the lack of and as usual he finds himself wanting to run after the other, to ask him to stay and to fall into his arms.  
He scowls at himself, regaining his feet and pushing off from the branch towards home. Wishing never got him anything and he wonders why he can’t stop torturing himself with imagining impossible things.  
He keeps tabs on his friend’s signature as they run in opposing directions, widening the distance more and more while his mind conjures the image of those infuriating marks on Madara’s neck. Did he like them? Was that...the sort of thing he liked?   
Would he like it if Tobirama did that?  
He’s halfway back to the compound when he feels his trousers beginning to tighten and stops with a groan.   
“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” he growls at himself in frustration.   
Running with an erection isn’t the most comfortable thing to do and he weighs his options: ride out the discomfort and avoid shaming Madara when he’s not even an hour gone, or stop here and...relieve himself. He’s not stupid enough to think the problem will go away. Once Madara gets into his head it’s nigh on impossible to get him out without a little self help.   
The decision is made for him when his mind provides him with even more images, half formed in his inexperience yet detailed with the hints he’d picked up from their argument earlier. He doesn’t want a quick relief. Guilt lies heavy in his chest but he pushes past it as he kicks off again - he wants to take his time, the way he would if he ever really got the chance to do the things his imagination is making up for him.   
It’s disturbingly easy for him to avoid the patrols and slip unnoticed into the Senju’s ancestral grounds, making his way through the darkness to the home he shares with Hashirama and their father. He’s so thankful his bedroom is at the opposite end of the house from them as he tiptoes inside and locks himself in.  
His clothing falls to floor with the near silent shifting of cotton. He steps over them and falls on the bed, the sheets cool against his skin.  
In his mind he’s falling into Madara’s bed, the older boy having pushed him there while wearing that dark wicked smirk of his, the one he wears when he’s done something he knows he shouldn’t have. Tobirama’s breath hitches at just the thought of that smirk. He wants all of Madara’s smiles for himself. Wants his breath and his thoughts and his time and his heart. He wants everything and the nothing that he has tastes so bitter.   
Breath already quickening, he lets his mind pick out the interesting parts of the things Madara had mockingly described. He’d asked Tobirama if he wanted to know what it felt like to have someone swallow his cock. Did that mean…?  
He tries to picture Madara’s face near his nether regions, lips stretched wide around his own pale length. Just the idea has his throat dry but he needs something more for the fantasy to feel real. He brings his hands up to his chest, stroking his unmarred skin down past his ribs, over his abdomen and inward to where he has pictured Madara. He wraps one hand around himself, pulls slowly, and frowns. Something isn’t right.   
In a moment of inspiration he brings the hand back up to his mouth, drawing his tongue across his palm a few times to wet the skin. When he wraps it around himself this time he shivers. That’s it, that’s what it would feel like. Tight and damp.   
He spends a few moments thrusting into his own fingers, his imaginary Madara bobbing up and down and watching him with scorching hot eyes. He would probably know all sorts of tricks to make it feel good. He imagines that Madara is probably quite skilled at this, even as his mind shies away from where he might have picked up such skills.   
Then, of course because his brain is never able to turn completely off, the other things Madara had mentioned cross his mind. He’d mentioned being spread open and fucked into the mattress. Tobirama’s a virgin but he isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what was supposed to be spread open. It isn’t like he’d never thought of it before, although he’d never actually experimented with the idea. Now seems like as good a time as any to try. If Madara liked it then surely he will too.   
The hand on his cock slows as he reaches the other between his legs, stretching down, down, down, until he finds the puckered opening he was looking for. It flutters at the first touch and he barely restrains himself from jumping nervously. It doesn’t give very much when he presses against it and it doesn’t feel very nice either. Too much friction.   
Well, friction he can solve. He’s loathe to stop stroking himself but he pauses just long enough to open his bedside table and fetch the small bottle of weapon oil from inside. After a moment of thought he coats both hands. As he’d supposed it would, it makes the strokes along his length smoother, closer to what he imagines Madara’s mouth should feel like around him.   
He lays back against the sheets and reaches down below again. This time when he presses at his opening the tip of his finger slides in smoothly.  
 _And it feels amazing_.   
Tobirama gasps, his eyes closing and his head falling backwards. It was just the tip of just one finger, how did Madara deal with an entire cock in his ass? He must have been melting from the inside out.   
Panting through clenched teeth, he presses his finger deeper, pretending it’s a different hand, one tanned by the sun and calloused by years of fire jutsu. The mental image of Madara servicing him so thoroughly makes his gut clench. He sees the older boy there on the bed, worshipping Tobirama’s body and moaning at the chance to do so, eager to please him.   
His gut tightens and Tobirama moves both of his hands faster, chasing, chasing. Small desperate noises fall from his lips and he finds that all the self control in the world can’t hold them back as he feels himself climber higher than he’s ever been before.   
All it takes is the memory of the way Madara said those three little words. He hears that voice whispering “I love you” and he is lost, crying out as he spills himself across his own belly.   
“Madara!” he calls the name like a prayer - and he would pray to Madara if he could. He’d fall to his knees and worship his friend if only he were given the chance to.   
The aftermath of his orgasm leaves him trembling and gasping with a finger firmly rooted inside his ass. He can feel the way he’s clenching down involuntarily, muscles flexing and relaxing as pleasure continues to course languidly through his veins.  
When he opens his eyes the fantasy crashes down around him.   
Madara isn’t here. That isn’t Madara’s mouth and that isn’t Madara’s finger. He’s in his own room and not in some fantasy bedroom. He’s cold and alone and his heart aches.   
Tobirama lies still while he catches his breath, small pools of cum drying on his skin and slowly dripping down into the contours of his abs.   
He hasn’t cried since he was a child but he wants to now. He wants to curl into a ball and cry for the unfairness of his life, for the love that he craves yet will never receive.   
Instead he forces himself to sit up and find something to wipe both of his hands with. The oil has left a faint scent behind and he wants to be rid of it. He finds a rag, wipes his hands and cleans his stomach. Then he falls back onto the bed and wraps himself in his blankets. He feels physically satisfied and emotionally devastated. There’s a reason he rarely indulges in such activities; they’re usually not worth the aftermath.  
Sleep comes to him slowly and when it does Tobirama sinks down into oblivion with Madara’s name on his lips. He dreams of those three words, again and again, and in his dreams he is free to speak them in return. 


	4. Secrets Laid Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a year after the previous chapter. Butsuma has finally allowed Tobirama to join the war parties, even though officially as a tracker, not a front-line fighter. Luck made it so that he never crossed swords with the Uchiha - until it happens.

Madara: Holly  
Izuna: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae  
Hashirama: Rae

 

Battles are rarely planned. Kami knows this one was _not_ foreseen.  
They should _not_ have met any Senju in this part of Fire, much less a full party! Lord Hajimo, who hired the Uchiha, most certainly didn't inform them that his equally noble enemy had hired the fucking _Senju_!  
Bristling with irritation, Madara heads full-on against Hashirama as soon as the two parties clash, engaging him in close combat.  
Ever since they discovered their respective clans, the two have developed an effective way to reduce the deaths to the minimum: they face each other, making a great show of power, then order a tactical retreat.  
It's not good, but it's the best the two friends have to keep their families safe as long as their fathers still live.  
He sees Hashirama half-turning to try to steal glances behind his back - that just won't do, they can't let their clans know that they're not fighting to kill! Madara doesn't care who Hashirama is worried for: _he_ is worried sick for Izuna and yet he doesn't make amateurish mistakes! “Hashirama! This is the time you'll bow to me!” He yells, bringing his gunbai down, almost on the Senju’s head.  
Hashirama thankfully notices and evades the decapitating strike, roots shooting out of the soil, reaching for Madara's feet. A lightning-quick katon burns them to ash before they can touch him.

Tobirama winces, though it doesn’t slow his movements enough to allow his enemy to strike him. He blocks the blade attempting to embed itself in his throat and sweeps out with his leg, half of his concentration on another fight happening several dozen meters away.   
He’d known, intellectually, that the Uchiha and the Senju were mortal enemies even if that knowledge had meant very little to him. It’s difficult to hate an enemy you’ve never met and who has never done anything to you personally. He had not, however, known that Madara was an Uchiha. It occurs to him only now as he weaves his way through what is only the third battle he has ever taken part of in his life that Madara has never once mentioned his family name, not in all the years they have known each other.   
He admires the wisdom of that even as he grits his teeth in frustration.   
His eyes are covered in several layers of gauze, preventing the sun’s light from harming him with its bright rays, and he’s aware that it is alarming his enemies to have someone who appears blind fight against them with ease. Tobirama uses his fist to render a woman twice his age unconscious before flickering away to another signature he does not recognize. Anyone he doesn’t recognize is an enemy.   
But he recognizes Madara. And he recognizes Izuna from the scattered few times his friend had brought his younger brother to visit the ghost that haunts the forests on the border between their lands. So what does that make them? He cannot imagine seeing them as enemies. 

Hashirama is beyond distracted today, refusing to stay focused on his fight with Madara - if it were a real fight, Hashirama would have been very, very dead. The Senju maneuvered them so that he can look at whatever got his attention over Madara's shoulder, and it's driving the Uchiha spare.  
“ _I_ am your opponent, Senju!” he cries, kicking the other hard and sending him crashing into the ground. He understands worry: kami knows how worried he is for Izuna every time they step into battle, but at a certain point you need to trust your relatives to be able to survive. Who’s got Hashirama so worried? Perhaps a young cousin just joined the war party?  
Hashirama's worry is contagious like a plague. Madara trusts Izuna to be tougher and more stubborn than any Senju, but… But the age-old paranoia for his only remaining brother is coming back with a vengeance, making him feel sick to the stomach.  
Avoiding Hashirama’s slow punches, Madara dares to sweep the battlefield with a glance, discovering Izuna to be busy fighting two Senju.

Tobirama ducks under a swinging blade as he mentally watches his brother get kicked in the chest and go tumbling in the dirt. He can tell that Hashirama and Madara aren’t fighting each other seriously. He knows his brother’s strength, knows the tempest his chakra can become. This is a mild squall in comparison.  
He turns his mind's eye to Izuna instead, alarmed to find him engaged with two opponents at once. Tobirama has faced those two on the sparring field many times and he knows they’re fairly skilled, enough to give him some difficulty even if they’ve never bested him before.   
The metallic taste of panic floods his mouth as he feels a third signature creeping up behind the three way deadlock. Tamotsu is his fourth cousin twice removed and he is one of their best assassins - and he is headed straight for Izuna’s unguarded back.   
Tamotsu uses chakra blades as his weapon of choice and time seems to slow for Tobirama as he feels them, glowing points in his awareness of the battlefield. Tamotsu rears back and pitches one forward. He can feel the trajectory, can see where the blade will pierce straight through Izuna’s heart.  
It takes less than a thought to make a single seal and flicker away from his own opponent.  
(Not another brother. Even if it isn’t his own, _not another brother_! Protect! Defend! Not another life to remember and regret.)  
His body appears only inches from Izuna’s and for a moment he barely registers the sensation of cold metal sinking into his chest, cutting flesh and muscle and tendons.   
He _screams_. 

It all happens too fast. He’s fending off two Senju at the same time, forced to stay on the defensive, when suddenly someone slams into his back, making him stumble. There’s a piercing scream of pain, and at the same time the world _ends_. There’s an arm around Izuna’s waist, the sky and everything around him becomes so white it burns his eyes, then it becomes so black he fears the Void ate him, and the ground disappears from under his feet-  
Then, as sudden as it disappeared, vision comes back and there’s packed earth under his feet again. That split second of _otherness_ was so jarring Izuna can’t get his bearings and he stumbles and falls on the ground. Behind him, there’s a second thump of a body hitting the ground, prompting the Uchiha to spring on his feet (a bit wobbly), sword brought up in defence.  
He’s not on the battlefield anymore but in a forest - the forest eastward of the Uchiha land, guessing from the massive redwoods all around him. And in front of him, curled up in a ball, is Tobirama, Madara’s ghost friend. Only that he’s wearing a bandage around his head - and that he’s bleeding profusely from the wound in his side he’s cradling.  
Izuna hesitates, lowering his sword. Is this even Tobirama? Tobirama is a ghost, ghosts can’t touch or be touched by humans - and yet this boy not only touched him, but whisked him away from battle.   
Izuna is not dumb, no matter what people think, and it doesn’t take him long to realize that this boy took a hit meant for him, that this boy saved him with no regards to his own safety.  
That decides it for him, and Izuna resolutely kneels by the wounded boy’s side. Tobirama or not, this person helped him, and he’s not going to stand by and let him die without doing anything.  
“Stay down, stay down,” he tells the Tobirama-look-alike, firmly pushing him to lay on his back, while at the same time unlatching his armour chest plate to take off his yukata. “Dammit, thank you, but what possessed you to do that!?” he snarks, pressing his black yukata into the wound with all his weight, trying to stem the blood flow.

It’s darker here in the shade of the forest, not as dark as he would prefer but it’s enough for Tobirama’s shaking hands to reach up and lift the gauze away from his eyes, the better to see Izuna. He is frowning as he presses his own clothing in to Tobirama’s wound.   
“Izuna. Y-you’re not...hurt are you?”   
The words come strangely, broken and halting. He’s never felt this much pain in his life and it seems to be affecting his basic functions. He blinks up at the younger brother of his most precious person, his mind still reaching for the battle that is now a fair distance away.   
“Madara...Madara wouldn’t like it...if you were hurt.”  
He feels cold and isn’t that just the most cliche thing ever. He can’t make his hands stop shaking and he hisses as Izuna presses harder against the blood seeping out of the side of his chest.  
It’s worth it though. Better this than Izuna’s death. Better his own than to watch Madara lose anything else. 

That solves it, he guesses: the self-sacrificing idiot bleeding under his hands is indeed Tobirama, Madara’s ghost friend. Izuna pushes away his jumbled, bewildered thoughts about how this is even _possible_ (did Tobirama possess someone to gain their body? Was he resurrected somehow? Did he consume some magical artifact to gain solidity? Did-) and instead concentrates on keeping the pressure steady and dredging up everything Aunt Sayo taught him about battlefield care, while berating the other.  
“I’m not hurt because you’re an idiot and Madara is going to _kill you_ for pulling such a stunt. But maybe you’ll be lucky and you’ll be dead by then because you’re losing way too much fucking blood and you won’t have to bear with his mother-henning.” Izuna’s voice is cheerful, the way it becomes when he’s angry, not regretting his harsh words.

Battling against Madara is always both a blessing and a curse. Hashirama is glad that he has a friend that feels the way he does, that peace between their clans is a dream they share, but he hates that they must pretend bloodlust every time they meet.   
Today he cannot give the fight his full attention and that’s dangerous, he knows. He can’t help it though. Tobirama is here and at sixteen years old this is only the third battle he has fought. He’s the only brother Hashirama has left, and worry can’t be helped.   
Madara senses his distraction and seems irked by it so Hashirama works him around until he can fight his friend and sneak peeks at his sibling at the same time. It is this positioning which affords him the perfect view of his brother committing what is possibly the stupidest and strangest act he has ever seen from such a normally cool-headed person.  
One moment he is at the far edge of the fray, barely able to be seen from where Hashirama stands for all the bodies in between them. The next moment he uses that special jutsu that only he seems to be able to use, disappearing. He reappears closer, just in time to receive a strike meant for Uchiha Izuna, Madara’s younger brother.   
Hashirama feels his heart stop in his chest and he screams out, “ _Tobirama!_ ”   
Then Tobirama has wrapped his arm around Izuna and the two of them disappear, gone from the battle entirely.  
What on earth could have gotten into his stupid pale head!? Could he be thinking that kidnapping one of the Uchiha heirs will somehow sway the tide of carnage? He knows his brother is a cold person but he didn’t think him to be _this_ cold!   
Madara barely seems to notice through his own screaming distraction that Hashirama has disengaged. He is already reaching out his senses, searching for Tobirama in the surrounding areas. He isn’t nearly as strong a sensor as his brother but he has skill enough to locate him and head in that direction.  
He runs with blood thundering in his ears and visions of too-small graves dancing in the back of his mind.  
‘Please not again,’ he thinks. 

There can’t be two people with such a strange name. Hashirama cries ‘Tobirama’, worry and fear and desperation in his voice, and Madara feels his blood freeze. He doesn’t know how Hashirama can know him, but he _did_ , so he turns just in time to see a white-haired boy - Tobirama, it’s Tobirama, why is Tobirama here, why is he wearing a bandage over his eyes - hug Izuna from behind and disappear in thin air.  
Panic sets in immediately. _Izuna Izuna Izuna where is his brother?_ Logically, Madara knows that the Tobirama he knows wouldn't harm Izuna, not when they became friends themselves, but there is nothing logical about the primal fear settling in his guts at the thought of _I lost my last brother._  
Hashirama gives an anguished cry and sets off running, seemingly forgetting he has a war party he should take care of. Why? It's not his brother that just disappeared!  
However, no matter where he's running, it must be connected to Izuna and Tobirama: if he set off running like that, he must know where he's going, which is better than what Madara has. He doesn't know how to track Tobirama down.  
Madara grits his teeth, for he so wants to join Hashirama, but instead he calls out to his party: “The Senju retreat! Fall back, there is nothing to be gained here! Ryu, you're leader now, bring everyone back home! I'll pursue him!”  
Without waiting for an answer Madara sets off after his friend, enhancing his speed with all his chakra - Hashirama, for all his strength, can't match his speed, and he soon catches up with the Senju.  
“What got into you!? Do you know where Izuna is?”

Hashirama hears his friend but he can’t spare the concentration to answer. He is holding on hard to the fluctuation of his brother’s chakra, coming up fast and accompanied by another signature right next to him.   
A minute later he is plummeting to the earth, dirt and loam spraying around him on impact but he pays it no mind as he rushes towards the two adolescents huddled together at the base of a thick redwood tree.   
“Tobirama! Are you okay? Why did you do that!?” Without giving his brother time to answer he turns to Izuna. “Is he alright? Is he dying?”  
Izuna looks nonplussed and opens his mouth to answer but Hashirama is in full on panic mode and runs right over him too. He drops to his knees to inspect the wound in Tobirama’s chest.  
“Y-you’re bleeding a lot! We have to get you out of here.”  
Tobirama is squinting into the half-light around them but he blinks up at his brother and makes that huff he always makes when he thinks Hashirama is being overly dramatic.  
Tobirama’s eyes slide past Hashirama to see Madara behind him and they go wide, filled with sudden panic.

“IZUNA!” Madara barrels into his brother, hugging him and holding his close. He's alive, he's unwounded, he's here, Izuna is alive and well, and yet his heart won't stop pumping adrenaline into his blood, pushing him to _fight fight fight protect kill kill_.  
He takes a shaking breath, hiding his face in Izuna's hair, trying to convince himself that everything is alright. Izuna pats his back, well aware of his brother's paranoia, but soon enough he gently pushes him away.  
“I'm alright, brother,” Izuna says, his voice low, mindful of Madara's precarious mental state. “I think Tobirama took a hit meant for me, then whisked me away from the battlefield.”  
Only then does Madara look at the fourth boy. It's indeed Tobirama, and he's bleeding on the grass, Hashirama holding a blood-soaked cloth to his wound - Izuna's yukata, without a doubt, given his brother's lack of his.  
Ghosts should not bleed.  
Ghosts should not whimper in agony, their eyes dull with pain.  
Ghosts should not be held down like Hashirama is holding him down.  
And yet it's happening, the green grass and the ground underneath him soaking up his blood.  
The panic he has been trying to rein in surges again, almost overwhelming him. He's rooted there, watching his love bleed, and he doesn't _understand_.  
“What's happening here!?” 

Tobirama wishes he could stop his lips from trembling. He wishes he could stop the startled gasp of pain as Hashirama fiddles with the portion of broken blade that is still buried in his side.   
“Don’t touch it,” he snaps at Hashirama. His brother whines and reaches as if to pull it out. Which is ridiculous. His brother is the one who has been honing his healing skills, he knows very well that something like this should be left in until he is ready to for surgery or chakra healing, whichever is available. “I can’t stand to see it in you like that, brother!” Hashirama cries.  
He rolls his eyes at his brother’s words - sort of. He has to stop halfway through and wince as they roll up to look directly at where the sunlight is coming through the trees.   
“If you pull that out I will _die_ you idiot,” he says, forgetting to check his words in his pain. “And then I really will become a ghost!”  
Hashirama mumbles about not using the cruel words of others against himself but he only freezes, his gaze going back to Madara.  
Beautiful Madara, wonderful perfect strong Madara who is there watching him bleed, watching him shake with pain. He wants to curl in on himself and weep for cursed bad luck. All he had wanted was to save Madara’s brother and spare him the pain of another loved one lost. It honestly hadn’t crossed his mind that surely this would expose him.   
The way Madara looks at him makes him wish he were already dead. 

‘Then I really will become a ghost’ Tobirama says, and everything slots together: Tobirama is not a ghost.  
Tobirama is a breathing, living human who pretended to be a ghost. His pale looks are not caused by death, it's his natural colour - he's just an albino.  
Tobirama is not a ghost, the person he fell in love with is a living, breathing person who lied to him for four years.  
Tobirama is a breathing, living human, and he’s Hashirama’s mysterious little brother, of whom the oaf almost never speaks. Tobirama is a Senju.  
Tobirama is not a ghost, Tobirama is a breathing person who's bleeding out in front of his eyes.  
Madara grits his teeth, his mind a whirlwind of questions and shouting and nausea ( _he lied he lied he lied to me why why why_ ), but he pushes it all back and steps forward.  
Tobirama lied lied lied lied to him and Madara doesn't know how much was pretended, doesn't know if his love is as fake as the ghost he befriended, but he knows he'll never get to know the truth if he lets Hashirama kill the white-haired boy in his panic.  
“Idiot, you do NOT pull a blade out of a wound,” he scolds him, his voice harsh and commanding, the way it sounds when he's on the battlefield. “Izuna, give me a blood-stopping tablet, quick.”  
Izuna, bless his heart, knows how to obey orders and fishes out a red pill from his medicine pouch - even if it would be very much in his rights to deny him: the Nara charge a _lot_ for their blood-stopping tablets, and only the highest ranked Uchihas are trusted with handing them out.  
Izuna meets his eyes as he hands him the precious pill, holding his gaze. Madara sees warmth and worry and love and understanding in his brother's dark eyes, and his sigh comes tremulous, finding strength in Izuna's compassion and support. Izuna knows how much the ghost came to mean for him - Izuna knows Madara was in love with someone he could never have.  
His little brother musters a small smile for him and Madara nods in thanks before kneeling by Tobirama's side, batting away Hashirama's fretting hands. He pulls back the blood-soaked yukata and crumbles the tablet into powder, pouring it over the thin but deep wound, covering it immediately afterwards.  
He very pointedly doesn’t look down at Tobirama’s face, instead nailing Hashirama with a pointed glare. “That should stop the bleeding for a while. Take him home. Carry him in your arms, don’t jostle him. Run on the ground, don’t take to the trees.” 

Madara won’t look at him. He is helping but he won’t look at him.   
Tobirama feels like the world is crumbling down around him, like the one good part of his life is slipping out from between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold on while the digits go numb.  
Hashirama wriggles his arms underneath him and he wants to snap at him to stop. He wants to stay and take it all back, make it all okay again. But he doesn’t because this is his fault, all of it, and he knows that this was inevitable. He couldn’t have lied forever.   
The only thing he can do is try to calm the only part of Madara that he can, give him the last bit of peace that he can.   
“Madara...it’s okay. Izuna’s okay.” The words feel stilted and awkward, inelegant where he usually tries to sound like a venerable ghost. He lowers his eyes as he speaks because he knows Madara cannot look at him and he cannot bear the pain of that, of being rejected by the one he loves.   
When Hashirama lifts him he doesn’t fight it, just curls into his brother’s chest and closes his eyes, wishing the whole world would go away.

Madara stands still, watching Hashirama’s back disappear, feeling at the same time like he’s rooted into the ground and like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.  
He feels confused, angry, tired, hurt. He feels like he’s cracking.  
Izuna steps up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. With a broken sound, Madara covers his hand with his own, entwining their fingers. “What happened?” he asks quietly.  
“I was fighting two Senju. I think a third sneaked up on me from behind, and Tobirama took the hit for me, then whisked me away from the battlefield with some shunshin-like jutsu,” Izuna answers, his voice low.  
“You told me that already,” Madara answers, swallowing hard. His gaze falls to the blood-soaked grass and he feels sick. “What was he doing there? Why did he do it?”  
Izuna pulls at his shoulder, and Madara allows his little brother to turn him to face him. Izuna looks worried, but for once Madara can’t manage to pull himself together to protect him from his own weakness.  
“I don’t know why he was there - I thought we had met every and all Senju of fighting age and we never saw him. But, as for the why…” Izuna’s voice thins into silence, and his mouth works uselessly, as if he’s trying to look for the right words. “He said you wouldn't be happy if I died. He was very concerned I wasn’t hurt.”  
Madara’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, choking on air, but Izuna doesn’t stop. “He jumped in to save me, completely disregarding his safety for you. He didn’t do it for me, brother - he did it for you.”  
Madara doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore, and he covers his face with his hands, trying and failing to breathe slowly and evenly. “And now he could die,” he whispers, choking on his own words.  
Izuna steps up close and hugs him, pressing his face in Madara’s shoulder, knowing better than to say empty platitudes - they are both familiar with how easily life can he snuffed away. 

Neither of the brothers speak as Hashirama rushes them back towards home. Tobirama stays curled as tightly as he can without further aggravating his side, pretending just for a moment that he isn’t late into his adolescent years. He pretends he is five years old again and his older brother has come to save him from the cruelty of this big bad world.  
He can feel Hashirama’s eyes on him, silently asking all the questions that he somehow keeps tucked away inside his throat. Tobirama is glad that he doesn’t try to let them out. He’s not sure what he would say right now.   
The compound is quiet when they arrive. The rest of their party will still be making their way back at a much slower pace, probably confused and worried for where their heir and his brother are.   
Hashirama takes him to their home and lays him out on the dining table, gathering supplies while he lies there and tries to just...bleed quietly. He feels small and he wants to curl up again to look small, to hide away in the shadows he is more comfortable with than the sunlight coming in through the window.  
He grits his teeth and moans low in his throat as Hashirama slides the broken piece of blade out of his flesh, second hand already pressing in with iryo chakra to begin the healing process. They are only halfway done when Tobirama realizes just how scattered his concentration is. His mind is jolted by the arrival of an enraged chakra signature.  
His father is home. And by how agitated his chakra heard, the party must be back and he must have heard the news.  
Butsuma bursts through the front door with all the subtlety of a rampaging bull, thunder in his face and judgment in his eyes. He hones in on his two sons at the kitchen table and stomps over, shoving a protesting Hashirama out of the way to push his face up close to Tobirama’s.   
“What in the name of the bloody Sage is wrong with you, boy!?”  
Tobirama does not flinch. He does not blink. And he does not respond. His face is blank and his heart could be ice for all Butsuma knows. (It’s a lie. His heart burns and withers, dying slowly as the minutes pass. None of it shows.)  
“I asked you a question!” Hashirama cries out a wordless protest as Butsuma grabs the front of Tobirama blood soaked shirt. “I asked what the hell is wrong with you? How dare you protect an Uchiha with your own body! How dare you spirit that boy away with your stupid ghost tricks! You are a _Senju_! You mock me and everything that we stand for with your actions. They are our enemy, do you not understand that?”  
Tobirama allows himself to blink slowly as he looks into the face of one who sired him and yet never loved him. ‘What am I worth to you?’ he wonders.   
“They are your enemies,” is what he says out loud. “Not mine.”  
The noise that Butsuma makes is inhuman, full of impotent rage for a boy he cannot control, cannot tame, cannot understand. Tobirama has never been controlled. He bows to their whims and their shackles because he knows nothing else and he has nowhere else to go. What is he if not a Senju? Who is he if not a rat, a shameful blemish upon the history of a clan of mighty warriors?   
(Strong, his mind whispers, in a voice that sounds like Madara’s. I am so strong. When will it matter?)  
Hashirama reaches out to stop his father as he raises his hand but Butsuma pushes him away again, making Hashirama catch his foot on a chair and stumble to the floor. It is all the time that Butsuma needs as he catches his second son’s face in a vice like grip.   
Tobirama screams at the first cut. He hadn’t seen the blade and it was so unexpected. It feels like cold fire stinging his face, splitting it apart.  
“You are a traitor to your own clan,” Butsuma growls as Tobirama scrabbles at him weakly. His hands - why can’t he feel his hands?  
“You are no son of mine!” he says as he makes the second cut. Two lines mirror each other on either side of Tobirama’s cheeks.  
“Let everyone who looks at you know what you’ve done.” Butsuma is shaking in his rage but his hand is steady as he slices a third cut down Tobirama’s chin.   
Red blood drips down his face, matching perfectly to the color of his off-putting eyes, and Tobirama gasps for air, feeling like a drowning man trying to stay above the water. He’s lost so much blood already and the pain tries to pull him under. His body thrashes against the arms holding him down.  
“No! That’s enough!”   
Hashirama. Big brother Hashirama, who has always loved him, even when he didn’t understand him. He’d been the shield that protected Tobirama against hurtful words in his childhood and now he is the guard that stands against the cruelty of their father.   
The moment Hashirama finally regains his feet he is pushing Butsuma away, his own face filled with an ugly anger that Tobirama has never seen there before.   
“How could you?” he demands.   
“Traitor,” Butsuma hisses. “I want him gone. Banished! Out! He is no longer welcome here!”   
“I won’t let you.” Hashirama’s voice is strangely quiet for a boy who is usually so loud. Both Tobirama and Butsuma stare at him, watching the way his face tightens and his eyes narrow.   
The floor beneath them shifts and cracks, reminding everyone in the room of the power he wields. Hashirama is the single most powerful fighter in their clan. Hashirama could break the world if he wants to. Hashirama allows his father a moment to remember that before he speaks again.   
“I won’t _let_ you. He is my _brother_. He stays because I say so.”  
Tobirama swallows, feeling the darkness creeping up, winding around his limbs and pulling him down, down, down. His vision is fading at the edges and his entire body feels cold and hot, heavy and weightless. He thinks he might be dying but he cannot bring himself to care. Big Brother is here. Big Brother will love him, remember him when he is gone.   
Will Madara do the same?   
Butsuma huffs and trembles and shakes his fists but there is nothing he can say. His son is stronger than him. And yet he does not back down, even though he probably knows he should. He bellows as he raises his blade again, a furious glint in his eyes. He lunges for Tobirama, laid out on the table and nearly helpless, fully intent on killing his own flesh and blood, the child that he created and raised and _hated_.  
Tobirama watches as if in from under the surface of dark waters. Everything moves in slow motion as shadows slowly creep over his eyes. Butsuma’s face grows closer and closer until suddenly it jerks to a stop. When he looks down at the thick root that seems to appear out of nowhere, passing straight through the center of his sternum, he looks almost as if he doesn’t understand.   
Butsuma opens his mouth but instead of words he coughs up thick globules of blood.   
Tobirama watches, detached. He feels nothing but the most mild sensation of surprise as his eyes finally close.   
The last thing he is aware of is the warmth of his brother’s hand on his face and a steady voice in his ear that whispers, “I won’t let you take another brother from me.” 


	5. Of Love and Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days have passed - but Madara has never been a patient person.

Madara: Holly  
Izuna: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae  
Hashirama: Rae

 

“Oh, for kami’s sake, just _write him_!”  
Madara freezes, a kunai in his hand. Slowly, he moves his gaze from the target he’s been busy peppering with kunais to his brother, who stands at the edge of the yard, arms crosses over his chest and tapping his foot - looking disturbingly like a male version of their mother when she’s annoyed.  
“What,” Madara drawls, frowning, daring Izuna to imply what he thinks he’s implying.  
It seems like he’s been overusing the Death Glare for too many years, because Izuna seems completely nonplussed, barely raising an eyebrow.  
“I said to write to that idiot Senju to know how Tobirama is doing, instead of turning that target into a pincushion and driving me spare with your brooding,” Izuna says, his voice cheerful and murderous. He doesn’t lose his irritating cheer even when he has to duck to avoid a kunai that would otherwise punch a hole in his forehead.  
“No,” Madara growls, and his little brothers sighs, shoulders drooping as he loses his chipper attitude, instead running a hand through his hair in a tired fashion.  
“Brother, you can’t go on like this. You’re worrying yourself sick over Tobirama. Write Hashirama and ask him if his brother is alright. It’s not hard.”  
The Uchiha heir shakes his head stubbornly, firmly ignoring the churning in his guts that have nothing to do with how little he’s been eating. “No. I don’t want to know..”  
“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Izuna looks like he’s moments away from pulling the kunai out from the wall it embedded itself into and throw it at Madara. “Look, I know you don’t like how he lied to you, and I get it! You have all the rights to feel betrayed. You trusted him, he lied to you. Fine. But you’re torturing yourself, not knowing if he survived.”  
Madara winces at Izuna’s blunt words, and Izuna steps closer to him, laying a hand on his elbow. “You’re angry at him? Good. You’re right. But it’s not going to help you if you’re angry at a dead man. Discover if he’s still alive, then you can go yell at his lying ass.”  
The older Uchiha passes a hand over his face, massaging his sore eyes. How much did he sleep last night, again? Three hours? “What if he’s dead, though.”  
Over his eighteen years of life, Madara lost too many relatives, too many friends. He doesn’t know if he can handle the death of the single person who knows him best, the single person he loved above all others. The single person who’d become so fundamental to him, whose _happiness_ was so fundamental to him.  
Not knowing tortures him, but he prefers this sick grey limbo to the coldness of knowing he’s never going to see those red eyes glinting at him, that he’s never going to see Tobirama’s wry smile.  
Izuna makes a pained sound, as if he’s hurting for his brother, and hugs him close. Madara just lets him, his arms falling limp to his sides.  
“You can’t go on like this. If he’s dead, you need to grieve and go on. Go on for me, brother. I need you. I can’t lose you like this.”  
Madara blinks, once, twice, then he slowly raises his arms to hug Izuna too.  
Things haven’t changed. He still needs to be strong for Izuna. His little brother needs him.  
He can’t lose Izuna. He can’t hurt Izuna by losing himself.  
“Alright,” he whispers in his brother’s hair. “I’ll write Hashirama.”

______________________________________________________________________

(exchange of messages between Madara and Hashirama via the latter’s hawk)

_Is Tobirama alive?_

_Alive? Of course he’s alive. But he’s so grumpy. _

_How is he?_

_I don’t know. He’s been gone a lot. _

_What do you mean ‘he's been gone a lot’? He pretty much had tea with the Shinigami just a few days ago! He can't be fully healed yet! Are you an IDIOT?_

_ I’d like to see you keep track of him! I’m busy Madara! And it’s Tobirama! _

_Care to tell me why your brother thought it a good idea to pretend to be a ghost for four years?_

_ What are you talking about? People have been calling him a ghost since he was born. Be more specific.  _

_Your brother pretended to be THE SPIRIT OF A DEAD BOY when I met him, and kept the pretense going for FOUR YEARS._

_ He never said anything to me about it. Wait what do you mean by that? How did you even meet Tobirama? He was pretending to be a ghost for you!? _

_Did you realize that NOW!? You really are a dimwit.  
I met him in the forest between our lands. Given his looks, I mistook him for a ghost, and did he tell me I was wrong? NO! He lied. I asked him about my brothers and he told me he guided them to the Pure Lands, that they were happy. What got into his white empty head!?_

_ That’s really weird because Tobirama doesn’t even believe in the Pure Lands. I don’t know what to tell you, Madara. He’s never talked about himself much and he never said anything about any of that to me. He’s certainly not saying anything now. _

_That doesn’t help me any! What is WRONG with your brother!?_

_ There is nothing wrong with my brother, don’t be mean. He can’t help how he was born! _

_I don’t care that he looks like a winter rabbit, I care that he LIED to me for FOUR YEARS._

_ I already said I don’t know anything! Why don’t you try asking him? _

_...can you get him to our meeting point on the Naka River tomorrow night?_

_ He’ll be there if I have to drag him by the ears. I’m pretty sick of watching him mope.  _

_ Good, I’m sick of watching Madara sulk. (This is Izuna btw, Madara was at the toilet so I’m answering the hawk in his stead.) _

______________________________________________________________________

 

They agreed on ‘night’, but Madara was too wound up and came to the meeting place a bit earlier.  
Alright, a _lot earlier_ , since the sun is setting only now. Izuna might have had a bit of a part in that, kicking him out of the house before ‘he digs a trench in the floor with all his irritating pacing’.  
Sighing, Madara changes perch for the twenty ninth time, jumping down from the tree he’s been trying to relax in and sitting instead on one of the huge stones jutting from the Uchiha side of the Naka river.  
He watches the water flow over the rocky bottom, gurgling happily, mindlessly kicking the rock he’s sitting on.  
What is he going to tell Tobirama?  
He doesn’t know what to think.  
All his life he’s been very emotional and it has always served him right, but he doesn’t know how much good it will do him here - there’s a wolf inside of him, pacing pacing pacing, licking his wounds, angry and hurt, and that’s never good with him. He wants to lash out, he wants to pay Tobirama back for his betrayal, wants to hurt him, wants to make him doubt himself as much as Madara is doubting himself.  
A resounding crack echoes over the river, and Madara realizes he’s been kicking at the rock enhancing his feet with chakra. Not wanting to cause a rockslide that would end with him in the water, he forces himself to be still and breathes in deeply.  
It all boils down to Tobirama lying to him.  
For four whole years, Tobirama lied to him, pretending to be something he’s not. Why? What did he gain from that?  
The only thing Madara can see him gaining from him is emotional manipulation. Talking of his brothers like that - it gave him power over Madara. Does he feel powerful when he has the power to make someone happy or desperate with only a handful of words?  
Madara gave him the keys to his soul and he was wrong wrong wrong.  
It burns burns burns that he was tricked by some heathen who doesn’t even believe in the Pure Lands, who placated his fears for his brothers with made up lies. A good deal of how Madara came to terms with his brothers’ deaths was the surety that they were in peace, safe in the Pure Lands - because the very spirit who had guided them there told him. Madara build his peace of mind, built his resolve to change this war over a _lie_.  
Madara hopes, hopes his brothers really are fine. He kneeled for hours in their shrine, hands clasped in prayer so hard they hurt, begging the kami for that lie to be true. He prayed and pleaded and offered himself, promised to end this war to give Kaito, Kenji and Tojiro peace.  
(The small stele Madara dedicated to Tobirama laid shattered in a corner of the shrine. Madara had a stone mason carve it to have a place to leave his offerings for Tobirama, since he was denied access to his grave. For four years Madara saved food from his plate to leave for Tobirama, praying for his friend to find happiness, to find peace, and it was all a _game_.)

Tobirama loves his brother, he really does. They have their differences and they aren’t as close as they could have been given a better childhood but he does have a very strong bond with his only remaining living relative.   
That doesn’t change the fact that his brother is an _asshole_.  
Hashirama wants him to go to the river to meet with Madara and while a good portion of his heart screams for him to go, to run, to throw himself at Madara’s feet and beg forgiveness and salvage what he could of their friendship, the rational part of him knows how utterly stupid of an idea that is.   
His friend - if they are still friends - won’t exactly be happy to see him right now. He is probably glad for Tobirama’s wounds, glad to think that he is in pain somewhere as recompense for the lies that he had told.   
So no, no he does not want to go along to some stupid river meeting. And that is when his brother starts showing his ability to be an asshole. Not only had he grabbed Tobirama by the ear like some errant child caught misbehaving, he had caught his ear _while holding a chakra suppression tag_. Tobirama can’t flicker away and he can’t augment his strength with chakra to push those pinching fingers away from the side of his head.  
Walking half bent over sideways is uncomfortable and horrible enough on its own. Knowing that he won’t feel Madara’s chakra signature to know if he is coming or not makes it exponentially worse.   
As soon as the river comes into view, a tall dark figure perched atop a large boulder, Tobirama digs in his heels in a last ditch attempt to escape his fate. He isn’t ready for this. He has no idea what to say. He wants to give Madara time to calm down, to think, to forgive. He wants to wait until there is at least a small chance that they can still be friends.   
His face burns as Hashirama drags him out of the trees, heels still trying to find purchase in the dirt. He keeps his eyes on the ground, too ashamed to look up and meet Madara’s eyes. 

Madara hears rustling and looks up, ready to bolt in case it’s not Hashirama and Tobirama.  
It is.  
The Uchiha heir blinks once, twice, thrice, but the strange vision doesn’t dispel.  
Uh, looks like Hashirama was serious about dragging Tobirama by his ear.  
Feeling a shit-eating grin split his face in two, Madara jumps down the rock with grace, silently landing right in front of the two brothers. It takes but a spark of chakra for his Sharingan to come to life, and suddenly everything is neater, clearer, even in the low light of the rising moon, as if traced in thick ink.  
Madara is a petty person even on any normal day: angry as he is with Tobirama, he takes great delight in forever burning the picture of him being manhandled by Hashirama like an unruly child into his memory.  
Memory preserved, Madara releases his Sharingan, letting his eyes bleed back to black. “If he’s going through his rebellious phase, I can lend you the leash I used on Izuna when he was a kid. It worked well with him. Taught him better than to run away.”

If Tobirama thought his cheeks were burning before he realizes now how wrong he was. They feel as if they might physically catch fire after Madara’s comment about a leash. He doesn’t need a leash.   
He wants to comment that it isn’t running away if you never show up, it’s just avoiding the issue. He clamps his mouth shut though and holds his protest behind his teeth. Madara can make fun of him if he wants. If that’s what he needs.   
Tobirama closes his eyes and hopes that the shame and the gut-wrenching sadness don’t show on his face. He would give Madara anything, everything, and if taking his rage out on Tobirama is what is needed here then he will stand still and bear the storm without complaint. He will not explain himself until he is asked to.   
“Don’t be mean,” Hashirama says from slightly above his head. “You asked me to make sure he comes and I did. I’m _busy_ Madara, do I need to be here for this?”   
That’s true. Hashirama has a lot going on back home, dealing with the upheaval caused by their father’s ‘untimely death’. He’s fighting for his right to the position as clan head, fighting against accusations of treason on both his own and Tobirama’s account.   
Tobirama squeezes his eyes a little tighter. He is worth so little and he causes so much trouble. He wonders why his brother bothers.

Madara sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose. Trust Hashirama to ruin what little fun he can find in this shitty situation. “Go, go. Tobirama and I are only going to talk. I’m not going to rough him up.” He thinks about it, then amends: “Too much.”  
He pins Tobirama with his gaze, trying to make the boy meet his eyes through sheer strength of will. “We’re going to be responsible adults, aren’t we, talking without bolting when things get hot?”  
Kami knows how many times Tobirama escaped their meetings when their conversations took a turn he didn’t like - because simply telling him ‘I don’t want to talk about this’ is too hard, apparently. Madara allowed it when Tobirama was a ghost, because he had no means to force him to stay there - but now he knows that Tobirama’s disappearing act was likely the result of a jutsu, something he can very much have an influence on.

Hashirama waves cheerfully, tossing his chakra suppression tag over to Madara as he bounds away. Tobirama straightens up - and braces himself.   
He won’t run away. He tried as hard as he could not to be here but now that he is he promises himself that he will not simply bolt as he has too many times before. On top of everything else he does not want Madara to think him a coward who cannot face the consequences of his own actions.   
But he refuses to speak first. He has no way of knowing exactly what Madara’s mental state is like or what he hopes to get out of this meeting. Maybe he just wants to beat Tobirama into the ground. Maybe he wants to scream and yell. Maybe he just wants to meet to make it clear that he hates Tobirama now and to tear him down, strip him bare with words alone.   
He’s surprised to feel his eyes stinging at the thought of it.  
‘Control’, he thinks.   
Control ignores him, far beyond his reach for the first time in years. 

Silence falls with Hashirama’s departure, heavy and stuffy like a shroud. Tobirama is still not looking at him, stubbornly staring at his feet, his shoulders squared as if bracing himself for a punch.  
Madara might just do that, if the little shit doesn’t start talking. He gives the other a full minute to gather his thoughts, giving a chance to talk first and lay his case down, but Tobirama stays silent. His passiveness is getting on Madara’s nerves.  
Patience is not something Madara is particularly concerned with, tonight. “Well? Are you going to start talking anytime soon?”

Okay. Okay he’s been asked to speak. Now what the hell does he say?  
His eyes slowly creep up but he can’t make himself look any higher than at Madara’s chest for fear that the other will see the naked longing which is surely displayed openly in his eyes. It certainly feels like it would be with the way the feeling claws at the inside of his chest.  
‘Smile for me,’ he wants to say. ‘I miss your smile.’   
He’s terrified he will never get to see that smile again.   
His lips part but nothing comes out. With his chakra released he can feel the tempest of his friend, the writhing and seething emotions that leak into his chakra. Madara feels betrayed, just as Butsuma had.  
His fingers reach up absently to touch the barely healed marks on his face, the scars standing out stark red to match his eyes.   
“I’m sorry,” he hears someone say. It sounds like his own voice but he doesn’t remember speaking. He _is_ sorry, of course, but he’s sure Madara doesn’t care.

“He speaks! Looks like you did your homework on human interaction. Now, after the apology comes the explanation, else your apology means shit.”  
Madara sees Tobirama recoil from his mocking, harsh words, and the petty part of him - not small and never deeply buried - purrs in satisfaction.  
“Why did you pretend to be a ghost? Why did you lie to me for four fucking years?”  
Madara had thought about punching Tobirama in the face, but it looks like he won’t need to. Unlike the other boy, Madara can read people just right, and can see that Tobirama is already pretty destabilized. He won’t need physical violence to drive the point home.

Suddenly he can hear the voices that taunted him in his childhood, running through his ears on repeat. Ghost. Rat. Freak. Abomination. Leave. Get out. You don’t belong.  
“I _am_ a ghost,” he whispers under his breath, unaware that he even speaks them out loud.   
He inhales slowly and exhales, a bit shaky. Then he forces himself to finally, finally, raise his eyes to meet Madara’s. He flinches a second time to see the anger there but doesn’t look away.   
What can he give now but the truth?   
“You called me a ghost but you were still kind. You believed I really was a spirit of the dead. I thought I would never see you again. All I wanted was to give you a little peace; the peace of mind I never had myself. When you left you felt _better_. I didn’t expect you to come back.”  
His bravado fails and his eyes fall back to his feet, watching them shift as he shuffles his weight.  
“Then you did. And if I told you the truth...if I told you that you were mistaken then it would ruin it. You wouldn’t be as happy.”  
For all that Tobirama has never had social skills he has always been good with words. He reads too many books to not know how to weave words together gracefully to explain what he wants to say. So how can words fail him now when he needs them the most? 

Madara takes a minute to digest those words, turning them in his head again and again.  
The Tobirama he thought he knew was not the most adjusted individual - Madara had the strong impression that the boy had lived in a less-than perfect family, showing every now and then a cripplingly low self-esteem.  
The real Tobirama doesn’t seem very different.  
Madara wonders for a moment if what he is hearing is just a load of bullshit, but quickly discards the idea. Tobirama’s comment about wanting to make him happy is too different from the ghost persona he showed Madara - it’s too different. Tobirama isn’t stupid, he knows Madara will recognize something so out of character - so it may be true.  
Madara snorts. So, Tobirama fears rejection? Well, fuck you. He’s going to feel sorry for Tobirama only once he’s done saying his part.  
“Damn fucking right I wouldn’t be as happy. Pass the pretend-to-be-a-ghost thing, but you lied to me about my brothers. Tojiro had been dead for two weeks when I met you. You knew how much it meant to me.” He snarls. “I didn’t want a pretty lie. Pretty lies disappear and you feel worse than before. I don’t fucking care you thought it was for my sake, you _played me_.”

“I just wanted to help.” Sage but he’s never sounded so quiet and small in his life. Where is the spine he’s spent so many years building? He's listened to words far more cruel than this for years and years and yet only from Madara do they hurt so badly.  
“I thought I was doing something good, that I was helping.”  
And he had. He’d seen the relief on Madara’s face that first night and thought to himself that finally he had given something good to this world, done something right. He had thought at long last his ghastly outer shell had been useful for something other than drawing all the wrong attentions.   
Unable to think of what Madara wants to hear, he helplessly repeats, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...to hurt you. I didn’t mean to disrespect them. I didn’t mean to...”   
He didn’t mean a lot of things. He didn’t mean to fall in love but it still happened.   
He peeks up at Madara and it feels like his heart is rotting away, ripping itself out to bleed out on the dirt of the riverbank.  
If he asked how to make this right, would Madara answer him?

Madara too had wanted to help. He came to see Tobirama again and again because the ghost was lonely, because the ghost on their very first meeting had told him that Madara’s presence brought him peace.  
“I think you really did want to help me,” Madara concedes, carding a hand through his long hair. He's still angry, but it's a different kind of angry - it's simmering, low, less explosive but more long-lasting.  
“But in the long run, lying never works. When the truth comes, it hurts. You hurt me pretty bad. It wasn't…” he grimaces, trying to find the words. “It was a bit like losing my brothers again. I worry for them, now, like I did four years ago.”

He’d known, of course, that Madara had been hurt by all this. Having him say it straight to Tobirama’s face makes a wounded noise claw up his trachea until it’s all he can do to force it back.   
His eyes feel wet and it’s the strangest sensation, half-remembered from his earliest years.  
This is everything he had wanted to never see again: Madara in pain and beating himself up over the fate of his lost brothers. All he had wanted was to bring peace to a passing stranger. Then that stranger had returned and they became friends. Then Tobirama had quietly fallen in love and here he is _breaking_ that person, the one most precious to him, the one he would do anything to protect.  
“No…”  
To himself, he sounds a bit like a whiny child, whimpering when they don’t get their way. He wonders if he sounds so pathetic to Madara.   
He can’t make his voice rise above a whisper as he asks, “Can I fix it?”

Madara turns so fast on his feet he almost feels faint. He doesn’t want to look at Tobirama, not when the boy is looking at him with desperation plain on his face  
He crosses his arms over his chest, because he wants to hug Tobirama, wants to feel him real and solid under his hands, but he _can’t_.  
It hurts him to see Tobirama hurting - he wants to soothe his pain, to kiss his bruises away. That’s what Madara is: he’s a caretaker. He cares, he protects, he heals. It goes against every fiber of his being to turn away from Tobirama, but it’s all he can do right now because his heart hurts so, so much.  
Madara is in love with a lie, and it hurts so much he feels sick.  
He fell in love with a ghost - he fell in love with a tale he told himself.  
Madara thought he had gotten Tobirama right - from the way he talked, the way he held his emotions to himself, the Uchiha thought the other was born about the time of his grandfather, or perhaps his great-grandfather. From the few things Tobirama told him of his family, Madara was sure he had belonged to the Yamanaka Clan.  
Alongside with his colors, death had washed away some of Tobirama’s humanity, but Madara had come to terms with Tobirama’s inability to get people. It made him stand out from mortals, as if petty things were beneath himself.  
But none of that is true. Tobirama is the second born of Senju Butsuma, brother to Hashirama. He’s alive, if an outcast in his own clan. He’s so ill-adjusted to society it makes Madara cringe.  
He doesn’t know how much of the ghost he fell in love with is true and how much is a lie, how much is to be found in Senju Tobirama and how much in Madara’s head.  
“I don’t know,” he says, letting out a shaky breath. “How much was a lie?”

Tobirama tilts his head like it will help him see around Madara’s back and look at his face again. Confusion worms its way in among the other emotions filling him up. He feels too overwhelmed, too full where he usually feels empty.   
“I do not understand,” he admits. “You already know what I-” he swallows “-what lie I told. I am not a ghost. What else would I have lied about?”  
He’s never wished more that he is more like Hashirama. Hashirama knows people, how they work and how to talk to them. He has no idea what it is Madara is asking and he hates not knowing things.

Madara glances at Tobirama over his shoulder. “I know a ghost that goes by the name of Tobirama. He’s my friend. You’re not him. You’re not a guide to the Pure Lands, you’re a ninja.” He looks away, tired. Suddenly all the sleepless night are weighing down on him, dragging him down, down. He just wants to lie down and sleep forever. He wants his Tobirama back.  
(Tobirama is made of flesh, now, Madara can touch him, kiss him, hold him close, and yet he’s never been so far away.)  
“Things are not the same, are they?” Madara got hurt once. He’s not going to be hurt again.  
He walks away. It’s the right thing to do, and yet it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Panic floods Tobirama’s mouth with the taste of copper. Wetness spills over his cheeks and - are those tears? He’s crying for the first time since before he can remember.   
Madara turns to walk away and Tobirama knows that if he goes then he will take the whole world with him. He will take every reason Tobirama has for living.   
The older boy gets maybe four steps away before Tobirama can force his body to move. His hands come together in a seal he invented not long before they first met and he flickers away, reappearing in front of Madara to do something he’s wanted to do for much too long.  
He hugs him; he throws his arms around Madara and holds him tightly, burying his face in his neck where the elusive scent of his hair is strong, encompassing, familiar.   
“Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t go.”  
He can feel his tears dripping down and falling into the wild locks of Madara’s ridiculously long hair as he closes his eyes and lets the words he has always held back finally fall past his lips, “I love you.” 

Madara is as firmly rooted into the ground as if Hashirama made him into a plant with his mokuton.  
Tobirama is a warm and solid weight against his chest, his arms around his neck and his face pressed into the curve of his shoulder.  
‘I love you’.  
Madara had dreams where this happened. Where Tobirama was in his arms and he confessed his love for the older boy.  
The Uchiha bows his head, diving his face in Tobirama’s pale hair, breathing deeply. He smells of old books and wool and metal.  
Slowly, his arms rise to circle Tobirama’s waist - so thin, he’s so thin, so small against him, he could hide him from the world, he could pick him up and never let him down.  
There’s a smile on Madara’s face, hidden as it is in soft white hair.  
This changes everything.  
If Tobirama loves him the way Madara loves him, maybe they can do it. The Tobirama Madara knew perhaps was in part a lie, but it couldn’t have been all in his head if Tobirama loves him too. Perhaps there is a chance to make this right.

Madara’s arms shift around him and for one horrible moment Tobirama thinks he’s going to be pushed away.  
Then they encircle him, pull him close. He feels Madara’s face burrow itself into his hair and he wonders hysterically if _this_ is what the Pure Lands would feel like. This is bliss and comfort, peace and a sense of _I belong here_. He never wants to let go.  
His feet shift his weight closer, pressing as much of himself to Madara as he can.  
His own words ring inside his mind, ‘I love you. I love you, I love you.’ It’s agony not hearing them back but it’s an agony he will gladly live with because Madara is holding him, hugging him. He isn’t leaving anymore and that is all Tobirama can ask for.   
He soaks up the warmth of his only friend and slowly a smile spreads across face, pressing itself into the skin of Madara’s neck.   
“I love you,” he whispers again. He is only inches from Madara’s ear, there is no chance he wasn’t heard, but he cannot help it. The words are out there now and they taste so good. He wants to taste them again and again, remind this boy every day how precious he is, how loved.  
“Stay.”  
He means for it to come out as a request but it sounds more like a desperate plea. He doesn’t care. 

The sound Madara makes can’t be described in any other way than a choked sob.  
Tobirama repeats those words again, and Madara doesn’t need his Sharingan to remember them forever. He feels like he can’t stay still, and his breath comes shaky.  
He’s happy.  
He’s happy, happy, happy, hope filling him, and he feels drunk, drunk. He closes his eyes, soft hair tickling his nose. Tobirama loves him.  
In the morning the anger and the betrayal will come back, but right now no ill thought can mar this. An Uchiha’s love is a greedy, irrational thing that will twist itself into any shape to keep a hold of what it wants.  
Tobirama loves him and Madara can have him.  
Tobirama is small and perfect in his hug, as if he was meant to be protected by the cradle of his arms, and Madara will never let anyone touch him.  
A low chuckle bubbles in his throat, and he can’t hold it in anymore: it spills from his lips in joy. He pulls back just enough to slip two fingers under Tobirama’s chin, tilting it up enough to kiss him plain on the lips.

Tobirama’s eyes are wide open but his brain is completely, utterly silent. His thoughts are blank, perfectly quiet in an entirely foreign way.   
‘He’s kissing me,’ floats across his consciousness.   
Some distant part of his brain starts gearing up for full on panic again.   
_How do you kiss and why did he never learn?_   
He shoves that distant part down to flail in the background while the still functioning parts of him try to rally.   
Okay. What _does_ he know? He knows anatomy. Madara’s lips are warm (they taste like smoke and sunlight, delicious, life-giving) and they’re pressing against his own in the most interesting ways (never stop, please never stop).  
He does his best to mimic the movement as his eyes slowly fall shut, a breathy sigh escaping him.   
Madara. Is. Kissing. Him.   
Is this what happiness is supposed to feel like? Like his entire body could rise into the air for its weightlessness? Like he could do anything asked of him with ease because he feels powerful, ready to take on the world?   
He’s barely aware of his hands sliding in to Madara’s hair, only enough to register that it does indeed feel like silk as he’d always thought it would. Most of his focus is on the heavenly pressure against his lips.   
_Sweet sage Madara is kissing him._   
He hopes he’s doing it right. 

Tobirama presses even closer to him, his thin, chapped lips pressing eagerly against Madara’s, fumbling like a kid at his first kiss. (A tiny part of Madara laughs that he may very well _be_ the first person Tobirama ever kissed. As far as it concerns him, he’s also going to be his last.)  
When Madara pulls back, Tobirama tries to follow him until he loses his balance and shifts all his weight on Madara - who doesn’t stumble simply because he’s a good fifteen kilos heavier than the other. Their lips separate, and Tobirama makes a tiny noise of distress that brings another chuckle out of the Uchiha.  
Madara cups Tobirama’s cheek, mesmerized by Tobirama's wide eyes as he wipes his tears away with his thumb - paying care to only brush the healing cut.  
Tobirama’s eyes are the very same shade of his Sharingan - not Izuna’s, not Ryu’s, not anyone else’s: Madara’s. It’s the most beautiful colour, like a drop of blood in a saucer of milk, and it fits this broken boy.  
(Tobirama feels so frail, so desperate, that Madara’s arms may very well be the only thing keeping him together.)  
His thumb brushes the Senju’s wet lips like they’re something holy, reverence in his every movement. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and once again he kisses this boy who can hurt him and save him with but a few words, tongue tracing the seam of Tobirama’s lips before gently slipping in his mouth.

He’s still reeling from being called _beautiful_ (how can he, how can he, doesn’t he see, Tobirama has never been beautiful) when Madara leans in to kiss him a second time. Only this kiss is different.  
Madara’s tongue traces his lips and it makes him shiver with the thought of having that tongue in other places. Then it slides between them and into his mouth and he makes some sort of extremely embarrassing noise of surprise. He really hadn’t been expecting that.   
His fists clench in Madara’s hair, pulling unintentionally while he tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to be doing.   
He’s never felt so inelegant as he tries moving his tongue against Madara’s. Instead of shivering this time his whole body quakes with the feeling of their wet muscles sliding together. The taste of smoke and sunlight is everywhere and he thinks he might be drowning but - oh - what a good way to go.   
He wants closer. He wants to crawl inside of Madara and keep that warmth for himself. He wants to peel Madara’s clothes away and discover every perfect inch of him.   
He doesn’t realize his hands are following that train of thought until he notices that one of them has come around to pull absently on the collar of Madara’s shirt. 

Tobirama is woefully inexperienced - just his luck that Madara feels like teaching him, then. The white-haired boy trembles under his touch, the hand fisted in Madara’s hair spasming.  
He explores Tobirama’s mouth slowly, his lips a gentle brush, and coaxes the other’s tongue into following suit. Tobirama doesn’t take the initiative to copy his movement, but it’s alright: Madara has all the time in the world to make him come out of his shell, so he just keeps kissing slow and deep.  
Tobirama’s hands pull at Madara’s shirt and he silently snorts in amusement, tilting his head so to lay a trail of kisses along Tobirama’s jaw and to his ear: so Tobirama wants more? He kisses the soft spot under the ear then nibbles the lobe, gently sucking on it as his hands trace patterns on Tobirama’s back, caressing all he can touch, mapping his body by touch alone.

Tobirama feels like he is being consumed by fire and he wants to revel in this feeling until his body turns to ash. His cheeks blaze with heat as Madara moves away from his mouth and kisses along his jaw. When he feels teeth on the lobe of his ear his spine arches.   
He’s never considered teeth but he’s suddenly very sure he could be convinced about them. (He wants to sink his own teeth in to Madara’s skin - his throat, his chest, his thighs; wants to watch Madara arch for _him_ )  
Hands move across his back and he’s not sure if he wants to lean forward into the mouth attacking his ear or backwards into the hands caressing his shoulders. Both feel amazing and he’s too stunned to do either, simply standing still with his whole body shaking from head to toe. Surely Madara can feel it and he wonders how he hasn’t been laughed at yet.   
His fingers clench at another nip and he swallows harshly, gathering his courage to make explorations of his own.   
But what does he do? None of his paltry, inexperienced fantasies have held up to this and he’s overly aware of his lack of knowledge of these things. His eyes are closed and his head tilted back and he wonders if it’s possible to die from sheer happiness.  
The heat in his cheeks increases as he slips his fingers inside the collar of Madara’s shirt, softly tracing his clavicle, scratching his nails against the skin to see if that’s allowed.

Madara sighs in pleasure, tiny goosebumps running down his arms and back as Tobirama gently scratches his neck. He’s borne with pride the red scratches past lovers gave him, but there is a sort of simple ingenuity in Tobirama’s movements that makes happiness purr like a fat cat in his belly.  
When he pulls back enough, Madara can see that Tobirama is still wearing his emotions on his face, confusion and doubt and anxiety and hope all rolled up into one in his eyes. It’s enough to prompt the Uchiha to cup his cheek with one hand, while he pulls a rebellious tuft of white hair behind his head. “Hey,” he whispers, bumping their noses together. “It’s alright. We’ve got all the time in the world.”  
Madara has dreamed of touching Tobirama in a much more intimate way. Even if he never lacked lovers, Tobirama was always a special case: he doesn’t think he could ever have enough of him. It’s better if Tobirama doesn’t touch him with his innocent trailing hands anymore, lest Madara takes his virginity on the riverbank.

‘All the time in the world’ he says. Tobirama’s mind immediately starts dissecting his words, drawing implications and inferences. Does he mean now or does this mean he wants to kiss Tobirama again later or-  
He shifts his weight again, scenarios and questions running rampant inside. There’s really only one question that’s important to him, however, and he parts his lips to ask before he discovers he’s much too scared to.   
What if the answer is no?  
Still, Madara bopped his nose. Actually bopped his nose. From such a loud, gruff person the action is adorable enough to make me smile a bit, even if the expression is wobbly with uncertainty.  
“Okay,” he says.   
Whatever Madara wants, he reminds himself. If he wants him again he will have him. If he wants him forever he will have him.   
(Tobirama hopes and hopes and prays earnestly to gods he doesn’t believe in)

Smiling, Madara pulls Tobirama close, leaning his chin on the other’s shoulder, curling around him.  
“When we met, I was sad for you. I thought it unfair that your life had been cut short by this stupid war, just like my brothers. I thought it unfair your grief for the losses of this war was keeping you from peace. I wanted to stop this war for you too.”  
Tobirama tenses in his arms, but Madara goes on, his voice soft and low. “Nothing changed. Soon, I’m going to be the head of the Uchiha, and I will have the power to stop this war. Even if I have to threaten each and every one of the other Clan heads. There will be no more dead brothers, there will be no more blood. There will be no Clan feud keeping us apart.”

It’s the last words that give him the courage, the admittance that the other does not want them to be parted. He takes a deep breath in but can’t stop his eyes from darting away, unable to look Madara in the eye as he speaks.  
It’s obvious the older boy doesn’t hate him and he’s relieved. It’s obvious he’s attracted to Tobirama but even he knows that attraction does not equal affection.  
“Do you think…” how to words his question, though?   
“Do you think there’s a chance that you might...love me as well? Some day?”  
_My_ , what an interesting shirt Madara is wearing. Very interesting. Enough so that it’s all he can stare at in the silence after his words.

Madara can't help it: he laughs, joy bubbling in his throat. “Love you?” He asks incredulous, because this is something that doesn't need saying, so deeply carved it is in his very heart.  
“Oh, ruby-eyes, I've loved you for a long, long time,” he says, entwining his hand with Tobirama's. His own is tanned and large and strong, whereas Tobirama's is milk-pale and fine-boned and nimble - but both bear the calluses of a lifetime of holding a kunai and a sword. They fit perfectly together like two pieces of a puzzle.  
“I was so in love with you Myo feared for my sake. I was afraid I'd have to wait to see you in the Pure Lands for us to be together.”

Tobirama looks at their hands, then back up to Madara’s face, absolutely stunned. He’s not sure what to say or even if the tightness in his throat would allow him to say it.  
Madara loves him. He can’t stop repeating it to himself over and over again. ‘He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.’ No words will ever sound so beautiful.  
He drops his forehead down against his - friend? Lover? Boyfriend? What word applies here? He’s not good at this - companion’s shoulder. The position hides the fact that his eyes are wet again and he fights not to let them fall this time. He’s seen people cry in joy before, happy tears they called them, but this is the first time he’s come close to experiencing it for himself.   
“Wow,” he says. It just seems to be his word today, all of the bigger, more momentous words somehow gone from head.   
He wants to ask _why_ but doesn’t. Better not to know. Better just to bask in the knowledge that Madara _loves_ him, has loved him for probably as long as Tobirama has loved the older boy in return.   
“We’re not that intelligent, as a whole,” he mutters out loud when he realizes that. “Pining for each other without saying anything.”

“All your fault,” Madara cheerfully informs Tobirama, stepping back until only their linked hands tie them together. “If you hadn’t had the brilliant idea to pretend to be a ghost, I would have made a pass at you a year ago. Perhaps sooner.”  
Tobirama’s eyes are still shiny with unshed tears, but Madara is going to gloss over that, if only this once. Poor broken boy has been facing a lot of emotions today.

He deserved that. Tobirama sighs and twists up one side of his mouth wryly. He wonders how much of their lives he could have changed, made better, if only he had told the truth sooner.  
He wonders if Madara would have made friends with him if he’d known right from the start that he wasn’t a ghost.  
They’re useless questions though so he puts them out of his mind quickly and focuses on the here and now. Here and now Madara is holding his hands, smiling just for him. He’s glad that he won’t have to go the rest of his life without ever seeing that smile again.   
And he can say that now, he realizes.   
“You have a nice smile.”

The complement throws him aback, coming entirely unexpected from usually stoic Tobirama. It takes less that a moment for Madara to be smiling again, however, brighter and wider than ever before, swearing he’ll always try to have a smile for him.  
“I like your eyes,” he tells Tobirama in return, bringing their joined hands to his lips to lay a chaste kiss on pale knuckles. “They are the same shade as my Sharingan. In days past, we used to kidnap people with red eyes to be our spouses - it was said to breed the most powerful Sharingan. The Yuhi clan still doesn't trust to be in the same room as an Uchiha.”

The very idea of being kidnapped to become Madara’s spouse does funny things to his insides that he can’t even interpret so he deflects.   
“I believe this is usually the part during Hashirama’s flirting where I tell him that if it gets any sweeter I’ll vomit. If this is what he’s feeling then I believe I owe him an apology.”  
He thinks about it for a minute before adding, “He’s not going to get one but I owe it to him all the same.”

“Oh?” Never let it be said that Madara lets blackmail and teasing material slip by. “So he’s still making cow eyes at that island princess? Does he still write her horrible poetry?” he asks with avid curiosity.  
Madara is discovering that he can’t find it in him to let Tobirama go. He simply can’t, for the life of him, let his hand go. He needs to feel him warm and solid and close.  
Well, that means he’ll just have to never let him go.  
Madara can live with that.

It’s surreal to fall into conversation as if it were the most normal thing in the world when he still feels like the very planet itself should have stopped spinning just for the two of them.   
Madara’s words make him roll his eyes heavenward anyway because he’s been _suffering_.   
“The poetry. Save me from the poetry. He insists upon reading it out loud to me before he sends it to her, no matter how obvious I make it that I am not listening. The fool sent her flowers in his last letter - without pressing them first. They’ll rot before she ever opens the envelope.”   
The malicious glee he can see in Madara’s expression quite matches his own and he wonders how one person can be so absolutely perfect for him. 

Oh, this is good. This is _very_ good. If he weren’t holding Tobirama’s hand, he would rub his hands together in satisfaction: while he does care for his friend very much, Hashirama is also an insufferable idiot, and this is going to be payback for all those times the oaf laughed at him when he was learning to skip stones.  
(So what, an Uchiha can hold a grudge like a champion.)  
Should he ask Tobirama to sneak a poem to him? Madara is bound to meet this Mito, sooner or later - he can’t wait to thoroughly embarrass Hashirama by reciting his atrocious poetry for everyone to hear.  
(Peace between all ninja clans might be worth it even only so that all the Land of Fire can witness the scene and tell the tale to their grand kids.)  
He’s about to ask, when he notices how Tobirama’s sly smile (how he loves that smile) pulls at the twin healing cuts on his cheeks. Of course Madara noticed them as soon as Tobirama appeared, but he didn’t pay them too much attention, upset as he was and as desensitized to wounds as was made him.  
But now, Madara has the freedom of mind to care very much about them. They happened after the last time he saw him, and are quite recent, too: the edges of the cuts are still a bit puffy and the scar tissue isn’t completely smooth yet.  
He grew up in a war and those wounds aren’t nearly close to life-threatening - but there is a precision in them that tells Madara they weren’t training accidents.  
Gently, he pulls Tobirama’s chin up, tilting it so that the moonlight lights them better. “Who did this to you, ruby-eyes?”

Immediately the feeling of joy dulls; the smirk on his face slides off like honey dropping from his fingers. He’d almost managed to forget about them.  
(He’d almost managed to believe Madara wouldn’t ask about them)  
His face goes cold and still, as it usually does when he is hiding the hurt, and he stares somewhere around Madara’s nose instead of meeting his eyes.  
“My father. For helping Izuna. So that everyone who sees me will know I am a traitor to my own clan.”  
He can hear the empty hollow quality of his own voice, so at odds with how full it has been with all the wildly rampaging emotions he’s gone through tonight. He’s gone from one end of the spectrum to the other and here he lands in the middle, settling into familiar blankness.   
It feels wrong, wrong, wrong.   
He wants to go back to smiling, to happiness, to Madara ignoring his visible shame. 

Suddenly, Madara can’t hear the night breeze anymore, can’t see the river anymore. All he can see is Tobirama with his head bowed, all he can hear is ‘my father’ over and over again.  
Madara is eighteen, and has been training since he was four. Despite his temper, his control over himself is very good, to the point he’s often called to reign in unruly Uchihas.  
Not now.  
“Your father!?” he growls, sharply looking westward, where the Senju compound lies.  
Control flies out of the window as his chakra envelops him, whipping violently like a raging inferno, so much he’s vaguely aware his hair is swaying in the hot gusts of wind that weren’t there a second ago. His eyes burn with chakra, the Mangekyo Sharingan spinning madly.  
Tajima has never been a great father, but he always respect his sons, the way they respect him. There is no love between them, but neither is there hate and abuse.  
Family is all. A father should never, ever turn their hand against their child to cast them out, no matter the crime.  
And Senju Butsuma didn’t hurt just anyone - he hurt _Tobirama_. Precious, hurt, different Tobirama, who’s never had an easy hand at life.  
“How dare he!? How _dare_! I’ll _kill_ him!” Madara is spitting with rage, unable to form coherent sentences. There’s a violet haze in his eyes, the beginning of Susanoo starting to materialize around him. He wants to kill, kill, hurt, rend limb from limb, tear Butsuma’s throat with his teeth because he laid a hand on Tobirama and hurt him in such a deep way that his love can’t even look in his eyes. 

Madara has always had a large chakra signature. As odd, ethereal bones begin to shape from nothing in the air around them his signature becomes nearly overwhelming, too bright on Tobirama’s senses the way the sun is too bright on his eyes.   
He stares in awe, fascinated, wondering what jutsu Madara is using. His eyes spring to life and swirl, the tomoe melting together into a new, unique pattern that Tobirama knows only through word of mouth. Mangekyou Sharingan. The words are whispered in fear by his clan members but as he looks at them now all Tobirama can feel is safe.  
Safe because Madara is angry - enraged - on _his_ behalf. Madara is angry because someone hurt him and that feels...nice. Even if he thinks it’s a little misplaced. He committed the crime, didn’t he deserve the punishment?  
“You’re a little late,” he says dazedly. “Hashirama beat you to it.”  
He remembers waking up the next morning thinking it all a dream, that his father would find him in their home and demand to know why he was still there when he had been banished. Then he had walked into the kitchen, seen the blood still staining the wood in sticky pools and Hashirama on his knees with a brush, scrubbing away with a steely determined expression.  
His brother loves him far more than he had ever realized. Far more than he deserves.  
It’s something Tobirama only now discovers that his sibling has in common with Madara. He has no idea what he has done to earn the hearts of two people whom he is so unworthy of.

“Is he dead?” Madara growls, pinning Tobirama with his Mangekyo, Susanoo slowly solidifying around him. Anger is churning inside of him because with head bowed Madara can see those precise cuts on Tobirama’s cheeks - they are too neat for Tobirama to have rebelled, Butsuma must have held him still to do those, likely gripping his hair with his hand, holding him down like an animal to be slaughtered. Madara can’t unsee it and it makes him furious.

As much as it warms Tobirama that Madara feels so protective of him, he also can’t stand to see him in pain in any way. And that includes anger.   
He’s not sure what comes over him but his body seems to move on its own, leaning him forward and reaching out to press a soft, fumbling kiss to Madara’s lips. He hopes he does it right, that he remembers how from what Madara showed him a few minutes ago. (Madara is a lot better at this than he is)  
Yes,” he whispers against the older boy’s mouth. “Dead at Hashirama’s hand, in my defense.” 

Madara snarls helplessly against Tobirama’s lips, sneaking his arms around the boy’s waist to hold him close. Tobirama is fine, he’s a survivor. Butsuma is dead, dead, he’s worm chew now, there’s no need for violence, now. Madara has to get a grip on himself before he is the one to hurt Tobirama by mistake.  
His breathing is too fast and shallow, his chakra raging unchecked. He needs to calm the fuck down. He breaks the kiss to hide his face in Tobirama’s hair.  
Tobirama is breathing slow and deep, and Madara finds himself mimicking him - in and out, in and out, calm. He can _feel_ Susanoo around them, and he consciously reabsorbs it, calling his chakra back inside his coils.  
Little by little the purple ghost falls to pieces and Madara can finally release his Sharingan. Then the invisible wind whipping around them placates, and all the while Madara keeps his eyes shut, breathing in deeply Tobirama’s scent, losing himself in the feel of his skin.  
It takes longer for the temperature to drop back to normal, leaving them both sweaty.  
Madara might be possibly shaking, too much adrenaline in his body and no outlet to burn it.  
All he has is Tobirama, thin and warm in his arms.  
“Sorry,” he wheezes out when he can manage to talk and not shout, kissing Tobirama again. “Can we sit? I’m not…”

His heart squeezes at Madara’s attempts to calm himself. He wants to tuck the older boy away somewhere calm and peaceful. (Strange, this caring, protective side of himself that only seems to come out for Madara)  
They have only just settled on a nearby boulder, hips pressed together and Madara’s arms secure around his shoulder, when he suddenly looks up at the trees on the other side of the river.  
He hadn’t realized Madara’s jutsu had blotted out the rest of the world so much. He hadn’t even felt Hashirama approaching.   
His brother touches down with a frantic expression on his face and a kunai in his hand - then stops dead at the sight of the two of them cuddled together, looking baffled.  
“Oh,” he says oh-so-intelligently. “I...what?”  
Tobirama feels heat in his cheeks and despairs that he is blushing again.   
“What the _hell_ have you two been up to? Madara, I felt your Susanoo all the way from the compound and now you’re...oh my god _you’re cuddling my baby brother_! MADARA!”   
Tobirama drops his face into both hands as Hashirama begins to flail indignantly.   
Why is he related to this idiot?

It takes a lot of self-control not to jump up and flash-fry Hashirama when he unexpectedly appears at the river bend. A _lot_ of control, because Madara is not used to false alarms and he’s so high-strung his muscles might as well be steel springs waiting to explode into motion.  
So, to avoid doing something stupid, Madara stays stubbornly still, pulling Tobirama closer a fraction of an inch. “Shut up, before I set Susanoo on your flowery ass,” he snarks.  
Hashirama gapes at him like the simpleton he is. However, oaf or not, Madara can’t deny he owes Hashirama one, so begrudgingly he says “Thanks for offing the son of a bitch.”

Tobirama sneaks a peek out at his older brother, who looks like he can’t decide whether to sock Madara one in the face or preen. Eventually he seems to settle for simply standing there awkwardly and doing neither.   
“Uhm, yeah. You’re...welcome? Tobirama you should come home. The elders want to speak with you about what happened.”  
Tobirama draws in a steadying breath. The elders like to pretend he doesn’t exist and they’ve been avoiding hearing his testimony for several days. That they’ve finally given in, finally admitted he should be allowed his own voice, is very significant. Even if they have only decided this late at night in the hopes that he will be impossible to find, thereby missing his chance.  
He looks sideways at Madara, reluctant to leave despite how important it is to do so.  
“I’ll be along in a minute,” he begrudges.   
Hashirama crosses his arms and narrows his eyes.   
“Nu-uh. No _funny business_. That’s my baby brother you’ve got there Madara. Don’t think I’ll let you get too familiar with him. Not on my watch!”  
Tobirama hadn’t known having siblings could be so mortifying.

Madara completely ignores Hashirama’s not-so-veiled threat in favour of concentrating on _Tobirama leaving_. The boy has already sat up, looks like he’s about to step away and join Hashirama.  
To go back to the house where his father cut him, where his father betrayed him.  
Madara’s hand shoot to take Tobirama’s, halting him. “You don’t have to go,” he says, brain working a thousand miles an hour to find a possible solution.  
“I wasn’t joking about the red-eyed bride thing. It’s an old tradition, true, but it’s still valid. Come with me, I can protect you. No one ever saw you on the battlefield, my Clan won’t know you’re a Senju. They will like you.” Even as he speaks he knows it’s going to be for naught, but he has to _try_ , has to try to protect ruby-eyes.

He’s caught between hoping Madara can tell how tempted he is and hoping Hashirama can’t.   
He’s also halfway to an actual aneurysm because Madara was serious? He really wants Tobirama to come live with him? Be with him? _Marry him_? He doesn’t even have names for the emotions he is feeling, willfully ignoring the negative (and loud) reaction his brother is having at the word ‘bride’.  
“No! No no no! Absolutely not! What!? Just, what!? You can’t just - he’s not your bride! He belongs at home! With me! With me at home!” Hashirama continues to wave his arms and spout nonsense as Tobirama leans into his companion’s side.   
He mumbles under his brother’s shouting, for Madara’s ears only.   
“I have to go. For now. My brother won’t become clan head if things aren’t settled concerning my father’s death. And if he doesn’t become clan head then there is no hope for peace between our families. He has always dreamed of building a village with you and...I think I would like to have all of my loved ones in one place. All two of you.”  
The lingering blush on his cheeks returns with a vengeance as he adds, “But...hold that thought. It is not an unpleasant idea.” 

Madara is aware that Hashirama is notably losing his patience at being ignored, but he doesn’t quite care - the other should be used to it by now, anyway.  
If Tobirama says he has to go, he will not hold him back - he realizes how much his freedom means to Tobirama, so he stands up and gives him a chaste kiss in acceptance.  
He can afford letting Tobirama go. His love told him he’s not against a strategic kidnapping and that’s good enough for him.  
If Tobirama doesn’t like his life with his Clan (and from the few tales of ghost-Tobirama, Madara thinks he _doesn’t_ ), then Madara’s door is open. He’s the Uchiha Heir, he’s entitled to a spouse at eighteen. Sure, his father is going to throw a fit because he wants heirs, but Madara can stall him reassuring that he’s bisexual, not gay, and that he’s going to take a female lover to produce those Sharingan babies he so wants.  
(He isn’t going to, of course. But if needed, he will keep up the pretense until his father kicks the bucket. Then he’ll name Izuna his heir and be done with it.)  
“Go,” he tells Tobirama, smiling at him. “I love you. I’ll keep in contact.”

Separating himself from Madara’s side is, without contest, the hardest thing he’s ever asked himself to do. He manages it only by reading the promise in Madara’s eyes that this is not the last time. They will be together again, and soon.  
As he crosses the river and reaches his brother’s side, Tobirama allows himself one last longing look back towards the one he gave his heart to a long time ago. Then he squares his shoulders and faces away again. Time to go make the future _better_.

Hashirama watches his brother pull away from Madara with obvious reluctance.   
How. Just...how.   
It hadn’t really sunk in very far, even though Madara had mentioned it in his grumpy letters, but it hits him now that his best friend and his little brother have been meeting in secret for FOUR YEARS. It hits hard.   
How could that even have happened? How in the world did they meet?  
It’s plainly obvious from the way Tobirama is blushing (and sweet sage he’ll never forget that; cold Tobirama, blank Tobirama, with a red blush on his face to match his eyes) that this is their first foray into romance.   
Which. Will. Not. Happen.   
Not on his watch.  
Not his wonderful, innocent baby brother. Poor Tobirama who speaks to no one and has been hidden and beaten down his whole life. He won’t let Madara take advantage of how naive Tobirama is. No. Never. Not ever.   
(Is he being too overprotective? Whatever. That’s his _job_ as the older sibling.)  
After Tobirama has one last look back at Madara, Hashirama wraps a possessive arm around his shoulder right where Madara’s had been just a moment ago. He looks back at his friend as well, as much warning in his face as he can muster.  
_Mine. No touchy._


	6. Things Stolen In The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Set a few months after the previous chapter)
> 
> Madara and Tobirama meet many times over the next few months, working through the issues created by Tobirama’s lies. With time, Madara forgives Tobirama and together they begin planning for the future.

Madara: Holly & Tobirama: Rae

 

Ever since his teachers noticed his huge potential, Madara’s been trained to be a front line fighter: his taijutsu and ninjutsu make him a powerhouse. Like any ninja he was of course also trained in stealth and subterfuge, but that was never meant to be his forte: he has talented cousins who _specialize_ in that, for kami’s sake.  
And yet here he is, running through the bushes, holding his chakra as tightly coiled as he can to avoid detection as he infiltrates Senju land.  
Thank goodness this is not a _real_ infiltration mission, or he would have been spotted ten minutes ago: Hashirama made sure to take all three ninja with chakra-sensing abilities with him on a diplomatic mission - and the last sensor in the Senju compound, Tobirama, is on his side.  
Hashirama, good friend that he is, also made sure that tonight the guard would consist of young and inexperienced ninjas, so that Madara actually had a chance to make this work. Did he mention already that he’s not very good at stealth and subterfuge? He’ll take any help he can get and thank kami for it.  
So far, so good. Madara managed to sneak by the outer ring of guards, and is now just outside the wall of the compound itself.  
Now, for the hard part: he needs to create a diversion to alert the guards: the Senju need to know that Tobirama is being kidnapped. His beloved _could_ sneak out of the compound without raising alarm and meet Madara in the forest (he’s been doing it for half a decade, after all), but that would mark him as a traitor and a coward. Tobirama might not care, since he doesn’t plan to ever coming back to his birth clan, but it’s totally unacceptable to Madara and Hashirama, who refuse to have him branded as a turncoat: in a future not so far, they plan for the Uchiha and the Senju to live together, and they won’t have their new village marred by talks of infamy.  
So here Madara is, staging a kidnapping and trying not to get himself or Tobirama killed as he does.  
Thank goodness his beloved is a tricky motherfucker and taught him the shadow clone jutsu he invented: a few handseals, and two Madara’s jump over the wall: one hides in the shadows at its base, the other runs on top of it towards the opposite direction.  
A second, two… And suddenly there’s a warning cry, tearing the night’s silence like lightning. Good, the guards saw his clone and are going to follow him.  
Not that they will recognize him as Uchiha Madara - he made sure of that. His long hair is hidden under one of those strange turbans they wear in Wind Country, and he’s wearing war paint like them too. His jacket is blue with the trademark zig-zag patterns of Water Country, and he’s wearing an Inuzuka's typical blood-red trousers to throw them off. He doesn’t even have his gunbai with him, only a few kunai and his old sword: as long as he doesn’t activate his Sharingan, in the darkness no one should be able to recognize him.  
His shadow clone leads the guards and the newly-awakened Senju on a merry chase, trying to engage them as little as he can not to kill anyone, while the real Madara slinks in the shadows to the house he was described in painstaking detail. As agreed, there’s an open window on the south wall: Madara slips in silently, finding himself in a small bedroom.  
In a corner, sitting on a futon, there’s Tobirama.  
He can’t believe that this is _it_ , that _today_ he’s going to take his love home. That they’re going to be _together_. That he’s going to give Tobirama a better life, make him _happy_.  
Madara grins at him, hyped up by the tension of his secret (and very much unsanctioned) mission. “You have such pretty red eyes, Senju. I think I’m going to kidnap you and make you my bride.”

Tobirama’s face twists as he tries to figure out whether he wants to laugh at Madara being ridiculous or scowl at being called a bride again. He’s not a woman. Surely Madara has noticed that much by now, what with his ‘all seeing eyes’. (Tobirama mentally rolls his own)  
He ends up simply smiling because even though they’ve been planning and plotting and getting ready for this for some time now he still can’t believe it’s real. It still boggles the larger portion of his mind that Madara loves him, wants him, is willing to go to this much trouble for him.  
No matter how much he knows the other would protest, it is trouble. Tobirama has been able to sense Madara since long before he was past their usual meeting point quite some distance away. He’s much more sensitive than even their next best sensor but still, if Hashirama were not helping them he thinks this whole endeavour might not have been possible.   
And sweet sage did it take forever to convince Hashirama to help them, the over-protective twit. When Madara brought it up again, after the succession was finally settled and Hashirama stood unopposed as the Head of the Senju, his elder brother at first pitched a childish fit similar to his reaction on the riverbank. It took days of long discussion between the two of them in the evening hours to talk him around. His brother hadn’t truly understood many things about his life here nor the depth of the cruelties offered him by other members of their clan. He sends a silent thanks now to his sibling for finally seeing reason as he stands and goes to Madara, reaching out to touch him briefly.   
Every separation feels too long now. Every moment apart is too many.   
“Lucky me that I seem to have a bag all packed and ready to go.”

“What a lucky coincidence,” Madara agrees, hugging Tobirama and kissing him. As much as he'd like to take his time to ravage his pretty Senju, he's painfully aware they're on borrowed time, so he has to cut the kiss short.  
“Hold the bag tight,” he advises, swiftly sweeping Tobirama into a bridal carry - partly to annoy him, partly for appearance's sake: he's supposed to be kidnapping him, after all.  
“Now, I need you to scream for me, ruby-eyes.” The mischievous grin he shoots Tobirama gives his words a decidedly dirty meaning. “You're being kidnapped against your will, remember.”

Has he not _just_ mentally berated this idiot for calling him a girl? Tobirama huffs to make his opinion known yet he doesn’t bother trying to wriggle out of his love’s arms. It feels nice to be held so close, why should he bother trying to get away?  
“I am hardly going to screech like some damsel in distress but if yelling is what you want then yelling is what you will get. I suggest you try to close your ears.”  
He makes the last comment mostly to remind Madara that he brought this on himself, asking for screams when his hands are already too busy to block them out.   
Then he tilts his head back and lets out a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush. At top volume.   
He’s pretty such he never mentioned just how loud he can be when he wants to. 

Tobirama is a little shit. Why does he love him, again?  
Ah, yes, because he’s an _adorable_ little shit, Madara reminds himself as he grimaces and works his jaw, trying to dispel the echoing screen in his ears.  
“Oh, I’m going to make you scream even louder tonight,” he half-threatens half-teases Tobirama as he rushes to the house’s door and kicks it open. Tobirama’s screams have alarmed the neighbouring houses, lights switching on in window after window, and Madara knows that’s his cue to leave.  
Almost on cue, he feels his shadow clone disappear, dispelled by a shuriken in the nape - a killing hit, were he the real Madara.  
Wincing at the unpleasant feeling, Madara holds Tobirama close to his chest and takes to the rooftops, giving up any pretence of stealth: he just needs to get away, fast. It serves him just as well if someone sees him spiriting away Tobirama - and bingo, there are the guards that were chasing his shadow clone.  
Grinning, excited by this thrilling game, Madara speeds to the compound wall and overcomes it in one jump.  
The land around the compound is kept free of trees for safety reasons, so Madara skids like a fleeing hare, zigzagging to prevent any of his pursuers from predicting his path and nailing him with kunais or shurikens.  
However, at the edges of the forest Madara finds a smarter-than average Senju guard who was lying in wait for him: the woman jumps at him from the canopy, sword at ready. He dodges her and she presses him in, thinking him in disadvantage because his arms are busy - she doesn’t know that kicks are Madara’s favourite attacks when it comes to taijutsu.

Tobirama is hard pressed not to laugh out loud as Madara’s foot connects with Hanako’s face. Being one of the people that most often liked to disparage him for the looks he was born with, she wasn’t exactly one of his favorite. The expression on her face is delicious and he has to turn his own away and pretend to struggle mildly just to hide the satisfied grin.   
“Make it out of sight,” he mumbles quietly to Madara, “and I can get us away from here in less than a moment.”  
It wasn’t until he had met Madara that being a ghost started being a good thing.  
He feels so full of lighthearted joy he might float away. He’s escaping. Finally, after a lifetime of loneliness, sadness, abuse, being forgotten and shoved down and told he is better off not existing - finally - he is going somewhere he can be happy. Somewhere he is wanted.   
He wonders if he can talk Madara into letting him fight beside him in disguise, decimating battlefields side by side and conquering the world as a couple.   
Life looks good from here on out and even though they’ve not even made it far past the compound walls yet he already feels freer than he ever has before. 

That sounds like a good plan - he’s pretty sure he can outpace most of the Senju following him, but if Tobirama’s shunshin can help him avoid any confrontation at all, he’ll take all the help he can get.  
With a burst of chakra in his feet, Madara brings them up in the canopy, hidden by the foliage. Landing on a sturdy branch, he lets Tobirama down. “Quick,” he hurries him, circling Tobirama’s waist with his arms. Grunting in agreement, the white-haired boy flashes through a few rapid handseals: a blinding moment when the world is ripped into darkness, the ground disappearing from under Madara’s feet, and suddenly they’re in a part of the forest the Uchiha knows well - the forest Tobirama used to haunt, quite a few kilometers from the Senju compound.  
Relaxing, Madara breathes in deeply, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. “Good, thank you.”  
Then, without warning, he once against sweeps Tobirama up in his arms. “I think I’ll still carry you, though,” he jokes, the elation of _we did it_ and _you’re mine now_ making him grin like a loon. “It wouldn’t be a proper kidnapping. I need to keep up appearances.” That, and he knows he’s not going to get many chances to carry Tobirama like this, proud little thing that he is.

  
He could use his jutsu to get them to where they’re going in an instant if only he knew where the final destination was. Unfortunately he needs to be able to see where he is leaving and picture where he is going and only one of those conditions are met at the moment.   
It’s nice, though. Madara’s speed is less frantic now and the breeze pulls at his hair, the cool night air rushing by them while he keeps a close eye on where they’re going in his peripheral vision.   
“What’s it like? The Uchiha compound?”  
He almost calls it ‘my new home’ out loud and the words thrill him even in silence. Habits built from so long of being told he doesn’t belong have him keeping them inside but he likes the sound of them all the same. A new home.

“Oh, you’ll like it. Instead of having big sprawling houses like you do, we have many small houses. The Clan head and his family live in the houses at the very center of the compound - the closer you are related to the Head, the closer your house is to the center.” He looks down briefly, flashing Tobirama smile, flawlessly continuing his run.  
“You and I are going to have our own house.” A chuckle. “Well, Izuna is going to live with us too. He’s been living with me since he was twelve, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if I sent him packing.” 

“That is...unexpected. Though very fortunate and much preferable to what I had thought would be the case.” To be honest he had been dreading the idea that he would be living in the same house as Uchiha Tajima but had resigned himself to it. He would live in an empty cave if it meant being with Madara.   
That does raise an interesting and very important question which he has to look away in order to force past his lips.   
“How close are your bedrooms?”  
He certainly hasn’t been looking forward to them having a bed and some alone time. Not at all. Of course not.  
(He’s lying to himself: it’s all he’s been able to think about. A single kiss had nearly melted his bones. He’s so very interested to know what it feels like to have Madara’s hands on his skin, to be allowed to taste whichever parts of his love he wants to.)

Madara’s hand might or might not inch upward Tobirama’s thigh as he shoots the boy in his arms a hungry grin, eyes half-lidded. Despite his previous teasing, he’s been trying very hard not to think about Tobirama and bedrooms because _this is an important mission, dammit_ \- but if it’s Tobirama himself who brings this up now, Madara feels entitled to let himself go, just a bit.  
Despite Tobirama’s stoic expression, Madara can see a bit of a blush on his cheeks that belies his coldness. Tobirama wants him, is eager for him, and it may very well drive Madara crazy before they reach his bedroom.  
“Our house is small - it consists of two bedrooms, a living room and a study - but Izuna’s room is opposite of mine. Normally, we would have all the privacy we want. However, Izuna had better not be home - half the compound is going to hear you scream my name, tonight.” 

It’s likely that someday he will be used to this sort of thing and less embarrassed by it. But today is not that day and he glares at Madara with nearly as much heat as is suddenly in his cheeks, trying not to splutter.  
“F-fuck you,” is all he can muster.  
As soon as the words are out he can feel Madara’s glee, sense the jokes he has just brought upon himself. 

“Please do,” Madara all but _purrs_ , voice low and husky. Tobirama is _so_ flustered now - he blushes so prettily, with his pale complexion.  
Madara wants to see him devoid of clothes, wants to see how far that blush expands, wants to create matching red marks all over his body.  
“However, this night I’ll be the one doing the fucking, if you’ll allow me.” 

Tobirama wonders if it’s possible for the ground to open up and swallow him when he’s not even touching it at the moment.   
He’s hardening in his trousers and that’s not exactly the best first impression to give if anyone sees them entering the Uchiha ancestral home. He squirms, unable to make eye contact and holding on to his blank expression for dear life. It’s the only defense he has against the absolute mortification he’s feeling - as well as the knowledge that he doesn’t really want Madara to stop, which only makes it worse.  
As he always does when uncomfortable or off-balance, he slips into his too-formal speech patterns, exasperated to hear how it only makes him sound even _more_ awkward.  
“That would be acceptable.”  
_Acceptable_!? He wants to smack himself. Why can he not be normal for just five damned minutes?

That makes Madara laugh out loud - he’s laughing so hard he nearly misses the branch he was supposed to land on, and has to twist sharply to catch a lower branch. “‘Acceptable’, he says! I promise to fuck his brains out and he says ‘acceptable’!”  
Tobirama looks adorably disgruntled in all his teenage glory. Madara wants that expression painted and hung on the wall.  
“I guess it means I’ll just have to work hard to rank more than ‘acceptable’, mh?”  
The redwoods give way to birches as the ground descends - they are on Uchiha land, finally. “Can you pull off my turban? I need the guards to recognize me. See if you can smudge off the war paint a bit, too.” 

Still trying very hard to disappear into himself with embarrassment, Tobirama does as he is asked and reaches up to pull loose the cotton wrapped around Madara’s head. Wild inky hair cascades down as it is freed and streams behind them like a spiky banner while Tobirama uses the material in his hands to wipe away the temporary facial markings.   
It was a good disguise but he’s glad to see it gone. He’s more fond than he cares to admit of Madara’s face and he quite literally has dreams of his hair. He allows himself a moment to card his fingers through it, pretending he is only straightening and neatening, making Madara more presentable. He’s going to be clan head someday soon, he needs to look good for his people, right?   
“Should I be your reluctant prize, hard won? Or am I allowed to be happy to be here?”   
He can’t believe he almost forgot to ask how Madara wants him to present himself to the Uchiha clan. He doesn’t want to mess anything up for his beloved.   
(If he could, he would be perfect for Madara. He will never stop feeling lucky that the older boy loves him as he is.)

“Your birth Clan, whom you renounced and whose name you swore to never pronounce, didn’t appreciate you or your talents. I found you and wooed you with tales of the greatness of the Uchiha Clan. However, your relatives wouldn’t let you leave so I had to come and get you. My family so loves a good tale about star-crossed lovers.”  
Spotting Misaru hidden in a tree’s shadow, Madara slows down to a jog to give the guard ample time to recognize him. The other Uchiha nods at him, signing him to go on, curiosity written plain on his face.  
Madara nods in thanks in return and resumes his talking. “Red eyes aside, my Clan is going to like you. The Senju might have their heads too far up their asses to realize it, but you’re precious. Despite your eyes, you learned to fight blind - and even if you didn’t, your chakra sensing skills are priceless. Any Clan would be honoured to have you among their ranks.” He chuckles.  
“You’re just too good to pass up. Everyone will be nice to you to make sure you stay in love with me and don’t want to leave.” 

Red eyes aside. Tobirama takes a slow breath in. He knows how those words are meant but they turn his thoughts in another direction. As much as Madara tries to reassure him he can’t help but worry that he is only walking into a new batch of harsh comments, a new world of isolation. He’s _different_ and in his experience that usually translates to _bad_. Or unwanted.   
There’s no time left for second thoughts however. They’ve already passed the first chakra signatures that he can feel in the woods around them and they’re coming up fast on the bright star in his senses that is his new home. Whatever may come, things will certainly be better than they were before. Now he will be with his beloved.  
He forces his body to relax, languishing in Madara’s hold as if he could wish to be nowhere else. He doesn’t really - why would he wish to be anywhere but in Madara’s arms? - but he does his best to hide the nerves, wrapping himself in the stoicism and distance that has kept him safe this far in life.   
“As you say,” he murmurs noncommittally. 

This time, when they get to the perimeter wall, Madara doesn't try to climb it but heads to the main gate, head held high with all the arrogance befitting a Clan heir. After all, he's returning victorious, his new spouse in his arms like his ancestors used to do to prove their worth.  
(Incidentally, this stunt of his is going to please the more traditionalist of his clansmen, who’ve been giving him shit when he talks of peace treaties with the other Clans. It’s a win-win as much as it concerns Madara.)  
The guard at the gate, a distant cousin by the name of Tetsuo, looks at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. In all answer, Madara smirks at him, hoisting Tobirama higher and causing him to look up straight at the guard, whose expression changes into one of unadulterated surprise when he sees the Senju’s red eyes, understanding flashing over his face. Like Madara said, it’s been _decades_ since the last kidnapping.  
“Tell my father I’ll report to him at dawn,” Madara orders him, passing the gate in long strides, not giving him the chance to ask any questions.  
If Madara knows Tetsuo, come breakfast everyone will know of the new development. Excellent.  
Leaving the gate behind them, Madara takes the main road. Given it’s after midnight, he’s not surprised to see the compound dark and silent. “It’s too late to introduce you to my father,” he tells Tobirama, “We’ll stay at our place until dawn. My father gets up very early, you’ll be able to meet him before the sun rises too high for you.” 

Tobirama manages to hold a cool expression as he meets the guard's eyes, as if he were perfectly comfortable in his perch and had every right to swan his way into the Uchiha compound in the middle of the night.   
Then Madara mentions meeting his father before the sun gets too high and he looks away from the guard just in time as his insides melts into stupid gooey little puddles. The older boy is so bafflingly thoughtful and it continues to throw Tobirama, even after four years, when Madara remembers some small detail about him.   
If it were daylight with faces everywhere watching their progression through the streets he has no doubt that Madara would have had a much more difficult time holding on to him in this manner. As it is, he is content to allow himself to be carried to the house he will live in now.  
All of the possessions that matter to him have been fitted into the small bag in his lap, packed away into sealing scrolls. They come in handy even if you’re only passable at fuinjutsu - and Tobirama is more than passable.  
He never expected his studies to help him run away to another clan but life is funny that way, he supposes. His fist tightens around the sack he is holding when Madara seems to head towards one specific building. Barring the brother he left behind, his entire life is contained within this bag and the boy who holds him.

Tobirama doesn’t seems to be in the mood to speak and Madara lets the easy silence be, happy to give his lover all the time he wants to adjust.  
Madara is aware he asked a lot of Tobirama. The Senju mistreated him, sure, but they still are the only people he’s ever known, the only house he ever had. For someone as sheltered - not by his choice, but still sheltered he is - such an abrupt change of scenery and of life must be very jarring.  
Tobirama probably isn’t in the right state of mind to hear this, but Madara is unspeakably proud of him, of his quiet bravery. Were their positions reversed, he isn’t sure if he would be able to leave his family, even if it meant a better life. How scary it is, to leave everything one you know behind, trusting another person completely to take care of you.  
Eventually, their home comes into view. As Madara lowkey expected, Izuna is sitting on the front porch, waiting for them, and shoots to his feet as soon as he sees them. “You made it!” is his jubilant cry, clapping his hands like a toddler.  
“Hush, you’ll wake everyone!” Madara scolds him, but he’s smiling, sharing his brother’s enthusiasm. “Make yourself useful and open the door, my hands are a little busy.”  
Izuna giggles and complies, opening the door with a flourish, keeping it open for Madara and Tobirama to cross the threshold.  
“Welcome home,” he says, finally letting Tobirama down. 

It might be the excitement of the evening, or possibly the romantic parts of himself that he has buried far, far down, but those are the sweetest words he’s ever heard. They are words that have never been spoken to him before, though he’s heard them given to others more times than he could count. What need of a welcome did a boy who never left have?   
And now he is being welcomed with two smiling faces by two boys who are risking everything just to give him somewhere he belongs.   
One hand still holds his possessions but the other blindly seeks one of Madara’s, entwining their fingers together in a tight grip as he takes his first look around in silence.  
It’s a beautiful home, not at all tarnished by its small size. The quality of the furniture and the decorations on the walls definitely mark this as the home of persons of high standing.   
Tobirama is used to buildings crafted by his brother’s jutsu, woven with a net of chakra that forever buzzes on the edges of his senses. This house is blessedly silent, perfectly still. He looks at Madara and smiles until it crinkles the corners of his eyes. It nearly hurts to smile so widely, so unused to the expression is he.  
“I’m home.”

“You are,” Madara confirms, leaning down to kiss Tobirama on the lips, feeling his heart swell in happiness at Tobirama’s awed expression. He did the right thing. This is where Tobirama belongs, where he _deserves_ to be.  
The Senju - well, kind of ex-Senju, now - presses close to him, reminding Madara of the teasing they tossed at each other before.  
He turns to look at Izuna, who is smiling like a happy puppy. “You’d better go freeload off Ryu for tonight,” he tells him with a wry smile, making shooing motions.  
Izuna blinks at him, tilting his head. Yup, a puppy. A homicidal one, but still a puppy. “Why? I haven’t seen Tobirama in, like, forever!”  
Madara laughs. “You’ll have all the time you want to catch up - starting _tomorrow_. This is my bride’s first night in the Clan - do you _really_ want to spend the night here?”  
Izuna makes a disgusted face, as if he just bit a lemon - or discovered a chocolate chip cookie was in fact a raisin cookie. “Ew. Ew. Ew. I don’t want to know!” he complains dramatically, heading to the door. Once on the threshold, however, he stops and waves at Tobirama, smiling. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ll like it here. Give it a week and it’ll be as if you were born here!”  
With that, Izuna leaves, closing the door behind him. 

He watches Izuna scramble out the door before turning to give Madara a wry look.  
“I’m certain he meant that kindly but I truly hope not. I wouldn’t like it to be as if I were born here. Not the way I understand that.”  
Rather that see Madara’s opinions on that flicker in his dark eyes, Tobirama takes another look around, taking in more details that he hadn’t before.  
“I was afraid this day would never come,” he admits quietly. “It took so long to convince Hashirama that this was what was best for me. I thought he wouldn’t help us. I thought something might go wrong. I thought-”  
He thought Madara might come to his senses and realize Tobirama wasn’t worth it. The thought terrified him, still terrifies him even as they’re standing in front of each other.  
“But I’m here now. And...I’m happy.” He pauses to clear his throat. “I don’t really care where I am, as long as it’s with you.”   
Sage he’s getting as sappy as Hashirama and he is very glad his elder brother isn’t here to see it happen. The end to the teasing would never come. 

“Hashirama loves you, he’s always tried his best, but I have an advantage over him. Back then when they started mistreating you, he didn’t have enough power to stop them - but I do. I don’t think anyone will, but if they _do_ dare to disrespect you, I’m going to give them a thrashing they’ll never forget.” Despite their many years of knowing each other, Madara is only starting to really know the issues Tobirama grew up with, but one thing he understands: Tobirama doubts everything and everyone, always preparing for the worst. Madara already saw him scoff in distrust at past statements of ‘no one will hurt you’, so he hopes a promise to pay any misstep in blood is going to reassure him more.  
“Enough of this gloomy talk,” he huffs, flicking Tobirama’s nose. “Kiss me, bride.” 

Tobirama scrunches his nose.   
“If I am anything I am your groom,” he grumbles. Semantics are important, and he will fight anyone who tries to tell him otherwise.  
He still leans in and kisses Madara, sighing in relief as their lips slot together. Arriving in the compound was nice but _this_ feels more like coming home than anything else, makes it so much more real. He steps closer, letting go of Madara’s hand so he can run both of his own up the older boy’s chest and fist them in the collar of his ridiculous jacket.   
It’s the wrong color and it’s bothered him all evening. Madara has always looked best in the blacks and reds and purples that he prefers to wear most often. This silly blue jacket - he knew it was supposed to represent some other clan but someone as untravelled as him has no way of knowing which - doesn’t suit his love. 

“Don’t take it personally - we used to call ‘bride’ anyone who was kidnapped to become an Uchiha’s spouse, be it a man or a woman,” Madara explains between one kiss and the other, breathing his words on Tobirama’s lips.  
Tobirama is right up against him, their chests pressed together - if it weren’t for the jacket, he’d be able to feel his warmth right thought his clothes. Tobirama seems similarly annoyed with the blue jacket, pointedly pulling at the collar - and how can Madara not give in? His deft fingers undo the bone buttons holding it closed and he shrugs it off, throwing it on the cushions of the living room - tomorrow he’ll put it back in the storage room it belongs to.  
Wearing now only a black sleeveless shirt, Madara takes the white-haired boy’s hand and pulls him with him as he crosses the room. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour of the house.” 

Tobirama growls lightly under his breath. Madara is a _tease_ and he’s doing it on purpose, he just knows it. He doesn’t want a tour of the house except maybe a tour down the hallway that leads to Madara’s - their - bedroom.   
He allows himself to be led, seemingly docile, as he is shown around the common areas, Madara given him little tidbits of information about random things. He can see the smirk, he can feel the naughty glee in his chakra. He knows Madara is just trying to rile him.   
And it’s _working_ damn it. They’re barely even touching now and that small taste he got has his heart hammering against his ribcage, his blood singing for more, more, more.   
“Madara,” he says eventually, cutting right across his love’s words. “I am _not_ tired and I want to go to bed.”   
He is stupidly proud of himself for saying it without stuttering. He even managed a pointed look, even if it was slightly marred by the embarrassment of being so forward.   
Now all he can do is bask in the glory of his tiny triumph because he’s fairly certain that the moment Madara actually lays hands on him his brain is going to forget how limbs are supposed to work and make him look like a flailing idiot.

Madara’s smile gives way to a smirk at Tobirama’s sharp comment - he’d personally bet the other would last at least until they got to Izuna’s bedroom before cutting the chase short.  
“I guess we can skip Izuna’s bedroom, then,” he says before sweeping Tobirama up for the third time that night. He cuts any rising protest with a deep - though brief - kiss, his tongue bypassing Tobirama’s lips entirely in favour of plundering his mouth.  
“This is our room,” he informs Tobirama in a husky voice, carefully sliding the door open with a foot. There are many things he wants to show Tobirama in his rooms - his old swords hung on the wall, his books, his jewellery - but they can wait for tomorrow: instead Madara zeroes in on the brand-new double futon in a corner. In one smooth move, he kneels on the futon and lays Tobirama down, straddling him and bending down to kiss him again, eagerly tasting him, excitement building inside of him. 

As he had suspected of himself, his brain fizzles out into white noise as Madara pushes him down and straddles him. The weight of the other on top of his body is something he hadn’t been able to conjure in his fantasies. He’s sparred before, he knows what it’s like to have weight holding itself up on you, poised to strike. This is different. Madara is not holding him down so much as he is holding him together, his position meant to press them close rather than to hold an advantage.   
His body arcs upwards of its own accord before he can stop and think that surely this will present to his lover how achingly hard he is already. Is that okay, he wonders, to be so excited so fast?  
As he feels his fingers digging into Madara’s hips he despairs of gaining control over his own body parts again and resigns to the fact that he will probably embarrass himself somehow during this.   
(‘Don’t stop,’ he thinks. ‘More. Closer. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.’)

Tobirama is deliciously responsive, arching up into Madara in a wordless plea to be closer. Madara isn’t going to deny him, especially not when he can feel Tobirama’s erection press into his belly, so he lays down, all his weight on the younger’s chest, holding himself up only on his elbows.  
He kisses Tobirama, hungry, hungry, nibbling on the other’s lips, sucking, licking, with no regards about the other’s inexperience. He takes and takes and takes - and Tobirama all but mewls, arching upwards again.  
This time Madara ruts forward in answer, rubbing his own hardening erection against the bulge in Tobirama’s trousers. Clothes still separate the two of them, but the pressure is heavenly, making all his blood rush south - and so he does it again and again, rubbing himself against Tobirama, bringing pleasure to them both. 

He absolutely does _not_ squeal when he feels Madara rutting against him but he does make a muffled sound, half a moan and half just a garbled noise of shock. His love is aroused - and damn if that doesn’t short his brain out a little more.  
He did that. He aroused Madara. Madara is hard for him and only him and the feeling of that is heady, powerful.   
That doesn’t change the fact that he has no idea what he is doing. His hands are rubbing circles on Madara’s slowly rotating hips out of sheer instinct, a primal need for motion. It’s mostly luck that gets his fingertips under the back of Madara’s shirt as movement causes the material to fold and fall over them. He’s not sure what makes him dig his nails into the skin he’s found but the sound Madara makes encourages him to reach up farther and scratch his way back down.  
He wants Madara painted in marks come morning. He wants to mark this person as his own so that with every step everyone who sees him will see Tobirama’s signature screaming _mine, mine, mine_. 

Madara inhales sharply when blunt nails run down the small of his back, thrusting harder against the delicious body underneath him - and, _kami_ , does it go straight to his cock how easily he can push Tobirama’s smaller frame down, how the other lets him take what he wants.  
He imagines Tobirama on his back, holding his legs so high he’s almost doubled over, Madara fucking him so hard the younger one can’t physically squirm, pinned down like a butterfly, unable to move, only able to take his cock and moan his name.  
The vision is so powerful it makes his cock twitch in the tight confines of his trousers, stealing a frustrated groan from him. “I want you,” he half-whispers half-growls into Tobirama’s mouth, sneaking a hand to touch his own erection, rubbing it through the fabric with the palm, desperate for any relief. 

Even Tobirama is forced to admit that the sound he makes at those words is an honest to god whimper, torn from him by the sheer heat in Madara’s voice and the idea that the other is just as desperate for this as he is. Desperate for _him_.   
“Please…”   
It’s not a word he is accustomed to using often and he’s not even sure what he’s asking for. Certainly he’s agreeing although the faltering logical parts of his brain tell him maybe he should have figured out exactly what he was in for before they started this.   
He can’t be bothered to care as he frantically pulls on the edge of Madara’s shirt. Were he thinking clearly it might have occurred to him that to get it off he would need to push up, not pull down. He is very much not thinking clearly.   
He’s thinking of the pressure in his groin and the way Madara is rubbing at his own. He’s thinking of the familiar tension in his belly that he tries so hard to hold back.  
‘Not yet, not yet, not yet.’  
He’s thinking of whether Madara will teach him where all the most interesting places are. He wants to find them with his mouth. He thinks Madara would look beautiful writhing in pleasure.   
“Madara…”  
He knows it will probably be him writhing tonight.  
He’s not disappointed by the notion. 

There’s a frantic tugging at his shirt and Madara decides that yes, naked is good. He wants to touch and taste Tobirama’s skin, wants to see him writhe in pleasure.  
“Oh, ruby-eyes,” he says, voice so low he barely recognizes it as his own, pulling back just enough to pull his shirt over his head and throw it carelessly aside, “I’m going to fuck you _so good_ , I promise. You’ll love it so much you’ll ask for more.”  
On his knees between Tobirama’s obscenely spread legs, Madara reaches down and unbuttons his trousers, losing no time in shucking off both them and his boxers, kicking them off with little grace.  
Finally free of the maddening constriction, his cock hangs hard and heavy between his legs, and Madara can almost get his sanity back. Breathing out a shaky sigh, Madara pushes the spilling curtain of his hair over his shoulders before once again leaning over Tobirama, hands undoing the sash of his yukata as he kisses his love breathless. He doesn’t break it even when he opens the offending yukata, Madara’s hands running over a toned chest, mapping the younger’s body with touch alone. Finding a nipple, he tweaks it in his fingers, hoping to elicit more of those delicious moans from Tobirama. 

“ _Hah!_ ”   
Madara, it appears, is good at finding all those spots on him that he’s never thought to explore before. He hadn’t really thought his nipples would be all that sensitive, no matter that they pebble and harden whenever he is excited.   
Evidently he was mistaken because one gentle twist from Madara’s skilled fingers has his back bowing off the bed and his lips parting with a breathy noise.  
He can feel heat rushing up his spine and his hands scrabble to hold on to something - anything, any part of his lover he can reach.   
“Madara - _hah_ \- wai-wait I’m too...too…”  
Even his sentences are broken and jumbled things as he tries to communicate that he is dangerously close to falling off an edge he doesn’t want to fall off of yet. He thinks if Madara touches his still-confined erection one more time he might embarrass himself and he doesn’t want this to be over so soon, doesn’t want to stop. (Doesn’t want to disappoint)  
The sight of Madara’s absolutely perfect body helps nothing. The older boy is a glorious vision above him, all sculpted muscle and tan skin, the presence of but a few scars a testament to his skill in battle.   
Tobirama’s eyes fall inevitably to that which has been calling his attention since he first felt it through their clothing. He gulps audibly at the size. Madara expects that to fit...there? He’s willing to trust his love but that doesn’t stop his nerves from tingling with anxiety-  
-which immediately falls by the wayside when Madara pins him in place with a filthy grin and reaches down to palm his own cock. He feels his own eyes widen but he can’t move. It feels like his blood is rushing too fast as he watches his partner slowly stroke himself, eyes unblinkingly watching Tobirama’s reactions.   
The coil in his belly tightens, tightens, and it’s the mental image of that hand moving only a few blessed inches lower to touch his own skin that pushes him too far.  
With a helpless cry and a violent shudder, Tobirama comes between them, spilling himself inside his trousers and turning his head away in shame.

Madara watches with rapt fascination the almost pained expression Tobirama wears as he comes, panting open-mouthed. Only when Tobirama falls back into the futon Madara realizes he could have activated his Sharingan to burn that vision into his memory forever. Silently cursing himself, he promises to remember to do that next orgasm.  
The Uchiha is feeling very, very smug he managed to make Tobirama come only by touching himself - if he were one of his hawks, he would surely be preening and puffing up.  
Madara remembers being sixteen, however, and realizes that Tobirama most likely doesn’t share his elation - the way he’s stubbornly not looking at him tells him his love is terribly ashamed at having come in his trousers like that.  
Still riding that self-esteem boost, Madara manages to ignore the loud demands of his cock in favour of leaving over Tobirama, peppering his cheek and neck with kisses, since Tobirama’s lips are unfortunately unreachable, hiding as he is his face in his shoulder.  
“This is the first time I touch myself and someone else comes,” he says, his voice smooth and easy, bubbling with excitement and amusement - because imagine how boring sex would be, if one wasn’t ready to laugh at the stupidly idiotic things that happen in bed. “Hey, ruby-eyes, I don’t mind it. You’ll likely last longer than me, now, I’m envious.”  
Finally Tobirama turns his head, and Madara captures his lips in a kiss. “How about we finish undressing you? I’m the only one naked here, it’s not fair,” he mock-complains, pulling at the yukata until Tobirama reluctantly sits up, allowing Madara to pull it off.  
Tossing the yukata away, Madara pulls at the younger’s trousers insistently until Tobirama lies back and raises his hips for him to slip them and the wet boxers off.  
The Uchiha’s eyes roam over Tobirama pale body, discovering with great pleasure that his guess was right: the other really is white all over. Fascinated, he follows with his fingers the trail of white hair all the way down to soft white curls, petting them.  
“Kami, but you’re hot,” he says, not quite believing his luck. Even Tobirama’s nipples are pale, only a shade darker than his milky white skin.  
Madara wants to discover if they’ll become pinker by biting them. 

Madara’s eyes on his body makes him simultaneously want to hide himself away and want to stretch out to show himself off. The structure of his body is fine. If he looked like any other normal person he might even say he was attractive.   
The look on his elder’s face says that Madara, at least, seems to agree with that notion and he makes a comment to reassure him of that. He looks like he very much wants to eat Tobirama - which, to be fair, Tobirama wouldn’t fight too hard against. He still feels compelled to take attention away from his own body with any distraction he can think of. Might as well ask what’s on his mind.  
“Last longer?” he murmurs. “But I already…”  
How can he last longer if he’s already spent himself before they even started? Madara’s hand is petting the curls between his hips, making him jerk and shiver.   
Suddenly his lover leans over him and bites him on one of his surprisingly sensitive nipples and this time Tobirama really does squeak. It fades straight into a moan because wow. That felt a lot more amazing then he would have expected.   
“You didn’t think I was going to let you come only once tonight, did you?” Madara murmurs into his skin before nipping him a second time and sucking hard on his pebbled flesh.   
Tobirama’s sluggish mind suddenly slams into overdrive, whirring at top speeds. His heart rate picks back up and his hands slide in to Madara’s thick mane.   
_Again_? Tonight? Now? He’s not sure he’s going to survive this.

Looking down at his handiwork, Madara mentally pats himself on the back because he was _right_ : with enough teasing, Tobirama’s nipple get the prettiest pink shade, nub hard and swollen.  
Grinning like a wolf, Madara lowers his head to lavish the same attention on the other nipple, stealing a moan from Tobirama that makes his cock twitch in interest. How he likes to kiss the pink lips those delicious sounds come from - imagine if those same lips were stretched wide around his cock, his girth forcing Tobirama’s mouth open, saliva dribbling down his chin…  
Madara swallows, shivering as that mental picture makes his cock twitch, desperate for touch and pleasure. Not yet, not yet, Tobirama comes first. He’ll soon have his chance to plunge into tight, welcoming heat.  
Biting just a bit harder on the nipple makes Tobirama cry out sharply, legs spasming and chest arching off the futon, eyes shut in pleasure.  
Pleased with the reaction he’s getting out of his lover, Madara inches back, trailing kisses down Tobirama’s chest, tongue flicking out into his navel, until soft curls tickle his chin. Only then he pulls up to look at Tobirama, who’s looking at him with a deep red blush.  
“I’m sorry I made you come so soon,” he says, voice sweet and mockingly apologetic. “Allow me to clean up the mess I caused.” Tobirama’s comically wide eyes is the last thing Madara sees before he dips his head and starts licking Tobirama’s spent cock clean of the cum smeared over it.  
The younger’s cock went soft already, but his seed is still wet on his skin, and Madara delights in licking it away with long swaths of his tongue, not minding the faintly bittersweet taste of it - not when Tobirama’s body tightens like a steel spring, legs spasming erratically, not when in the corner of his eye he can see Tobirama’s hands fist into the futon like claws.  
Not when the younger boy moans out his name in such a perfectly broken, dirty voice. 

It feels like the world ending but in the most wonderful way. Every nerve ending screams at him and the pleasure is just under the point of being too much. He can’t stop his hips from squirming but Madara holds him down, locking him in place to endure the attentions of the hot mouth attacking his already spent cock.  
He can barely stand to look down but once he does he can’t look away. He’d imagined this alone in his bedroom, tried to picture what it would look like. The reality is easily a hundred times more incredible that what he had been able to come up with and yet another sound escapes, a breathy moan that almost echoes with its volume, as Madara completes the image by finally taking him fully between those lips.   
A light suction has him clenching the futon so hard he’s afraid he’ll tear the bedding and the slow bob of Madara’s head up and down his length has him clenching his teeth against a scream.  
He can feel himself hardening again. He’s never been hard twice in one day before - not this fast again anyway. He’s never tested his refractory period before but it appears to be exceptionally small.   
Madara hums a deep, satisfied purr and the vibrations make Tobirama’s eyes roll back.  
“Oh god,” he whimpers. “More. Madara...more.”  
He should, perhaps, be less careless with asking for things when he’s unsure of the consequences that will come after. As a large hand lets go of his hips and makes its way up the underside of his thigh, Tobirama decides he doesn’t care. Madara can do whatever he wants and he will happily allow himself to be dragged along for the ride.

Incidentally, Tobirama just allowed him to fulfill a kink of his: Madara likes to take his partners’ cock in his mouth when it’s still soft, which sadly happens quite rarely. Tobirama’s cock fits all easily in his mouth: nose buried in white curls, the Uchiha gently sucks on the soft flesh, feeling it silky-smooth under his tongue. Soon enough it starts hardening again, and Madara _loves_ the way it slowly fills his mouth, making his lips stretch around the widening girth, until it doesn’t fit all in his mouth anymore and he needs to shift forward to deepthroat him.  
Tobirama cries under his ministrations, thrashing weakly - Madara needs to remember that his lover is a virgin, that he literally doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of pleasure wreaking havoc in his body. A light scrape of teeth has him screaming, and Madara whimpers in frustrated desire around the erection in his mouth.  
The Uchiha can’t have enough of him. Tobirama is so eager, so _open_ to him, that it makes something ache in the most pleasant way inside of him - it may be his heart.  
Satisfied with his handiwork - having proved to his lover that he’s not by any means done with him - Madara pulls back until only the blunt tip is in his mouth, so that he can glance at Tobirama’s face as his hand comes between the younger’s legs, stroking his balls before slipping lower down. He caresses the crease between his buttocks, circling and brushing his puckered opening with a fingerpad: Tobirama firsts jerks away, but Madara patiently continues his ministrations to get him used to the touch, until the white-haired boy eventually starts twitching against him, hips thrusting minutely into his hand.  
With an obscene pop, Tobirama’s cock leaves Madara’s lips, a pearly string of saliva connecting them. “I’m going to do something you’ll like,” he announces, licking his lips with a filthy look.  
Hooking his arms under Tobirama’s legs, Madara raises them high, almost folding Tobirama in half, his twitching opening now in plain sight.  
The Uchiha _could_ do this with Tobirama on all fours, but he would never deny himself the sight of his flushed face.  
“Now, Tobirama, I’m going to eat you, and you’re going to moan for me,” is the only warning he gives, shooting a wicked, full-teethed grin at his lover before he dips his head and gives a long, slow lick along the crease of the younger’s buttocks. Fingers digging into the toned muscles of Tobirama’s legs, Madara licks eagerly at the puckered opening, the tip of his tongue flicking out to test the firmness of the ring of muscles. 

A part of his brain wants to scream _what did you just do_? Because really? Madara cannot honestly have just done what he thinks he did.  
The rest of his brain mercilessly beats that tiny part into submission because it might be dirty but - _oh_ \- holy mother of chakra does it feel good. He’s never felt anything like this. He can feel Madara’s tongue against the most secret part of his body, a spot he’d never have thought to have someone’s tongue, and it’s incredible.  
(Sure, he’d expected fingers, but that had a _point_. Surely it was only functional?)  
(He deliberately does not remember his own little private experiments)  
Madara’s got his body folded nearly in half and the feeling of being so exposed would bother him if it were anyone else. It does bother him a little now but only for the sheer embarrassment of showing off pieces of his body no one’s seen since he was a babe swaddled in diapers and onesies. Past that his body puts up no resistance because this is Madara, his friend, his beloved, the one person he would trust with everything and anything.  
If Madara wants to work a tongue up inside his hole, as he’s trying to do right now, Tobirama is going to do nothing but thrash weakly as his body tries desperately to adjust to all these new sensations.   
He distantly hears the garbled swearing that’s coming from his mouth, the cut off vowels and half formed words that don’t truly make any sense. He tries to reach down and touch Madara but he’s not used to this position and gives up, claws at the sheets again.  
The deeper Madara goes into him with his stiffened tongue, the louder Tobirama hears himself get.  
He’s honestly starting to worry that Madara really will make him scream.

Rimming is not something Madara enjoys for its own sake: it’s a means to an end for him, wanting to acclimate Tobirama to being touched there before he actually starts stretching him open - but, oh, kami, _how_ he’s enjoying the heady sounds Tobirama makes! The boy is squirming in his grasp, hips twitching minutely, as if unsure whether to shy away or to press close to his tongue.  
With a breathy moan, Madara pulls back, wiping his lips on the back of a hand. He lets go of Tobirama’s legs in favour of reaching out to fish his lube from under one of the pillows - when he moves his attention on his love again, he’s pleased beyond words to see that he didn’t relax but instead sneaked his own arms under his knees to keep his legs obscenely spread, wet opening in plain sight like a banquet.  
Madara’s hand slips down to stroke himself at that sight, letting out an almost pained moan - how he wants to plunge inside Tobirama, move fast and hard and make him _his_!  
“I like you with your legs spread open,” he purrs, pouring cold lube on his hand. Scooting even closer as he smears it over his fingers evenly, Madara tests Tobirama’s opening with a finger, his cock twitching so hard it steals a gasp from him when the finger slips in easily to the second knuckle thanks to the previous preparation. A little push, and his finger is fully buried inside Tobirama, his body, warm and tight, clenching around him.  
“You’re so tight,” he whispers heatedly as he wriggles his fingers in and out, caressing the slick, puffy walls, trying to find that spot that will make Tobirama scream. 

This is nothing like the sensations he had given himself before with just the tip of his own finger and a little weapon oil. Madara buries himself to the second knuckle right away and Tobirama can already see stars.  
His hips try hard to rock with the motion inside him despite the position making his movements awkward. His fingers clench around his own legs, holding himself open for Madara. He feels a little shameless, a little risque, and the flush on his cheeks is more arousal than embarrassment by this point.   
He can’t see anything happening below but he can definitely feel when Madara adds a second finger. It’s not anywhere near as thick as Madara’s cock had looked and yet he already feels full, his body not used to opening so widely.  
He doesn’t have time to wonder about the mechanics of it, however, as only one trust of Madara’s hand later and something has been impacted inside him that whites out his vision. His body clenches down instinctively and the scream nearly rips his throat as it comes out.  
(Actually screaming feels less like losing and more like winning with this much pleasure crashing through him in hot waves)

Dumbly, Madara wonders if Tobirama is going to make him come without any touching, much like he did before - _that’s_ how hard the younger’s pleasured scream hit him, causing the Uchiha to moan and lean his forehead against one raised leg, desperately grasping at the fraying edges of his control.  
It’s hard to keep his breathing even and slow when Tobirama is clenching like that around his fingers, giving him a preview of what that pressure will be like around his cock. Laying hot kisses on Tobirama’s leg, Madara sets a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out, scissoring his fingers wide to loosen the ring of muscle - and always, always, making sure to prod at that spot that made him cry so beautifully, eliciting a string of incoherent pleas and curses.  
Throat dry, Madara pulls out to pour more lube on his fingers, this time breaching Tobirama’s opening with the tips of three fingers. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?” he asks in a rough voice before pushing them in, gently but steadily overcoming the resistance of the slick, puffy entrance. Into the base, he spreads his fingers wide, pressing and caressing and scratching at that sweet spot to wash away any unpleasantness. He remembers his first times, and he’s _not_ going to rush through this, no matter the demands of his cock. 

It’s both too much and not enough and he doesn’t know how to convey that. He doesn’t remember what words to use or even how to form them. All he has left in his mind is Madara’s name on repeat and a mantra of _more, more, more_.  
He holds out for as long as possible but it’s barely a couple of minutes before his head is tossing back, exposing his throat to the empty air above him and begging in a faint voice, words like “please” and “f-fuck” and others that he doesn’t quite remember as soon as they spill from him.   
He wants Madara, wants him now, wants him with no holds barred to give him everything without hesitation. He wants to be fucked into the mattress like his lover promised.  
(He wants to watch Madara wild and animalistic, taking pleasure from his body)  
The older boy makes sure to give him one last vicious press against that incredible point deep inside before withdrawing his fingers and then Tobirama can breathe, can take a moment to look down to meet Madara’s eyes.  
Just the look on his face elicits yet another moan.  
He’s thought to himself so many times over the years that Madara is beautiful, perfect. He’s never realized how much better it could be until this moment. He looks like some sort of battle deity taking pleasure in a mortal lover and Tobirama is more grateful than he has words for that he was chosen. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, slicking his cock up in short, sharp strokes: Tobirama looks hungry and wanton, his hips still minutely jerking upward against a hand that’s no more there, and his body is just as eager, his glistening opening twitching, loose - but despite his pleas for _more_ , Madara wants to be sure, lest he hurts him. “I can stretch you open more, if you want. I’m bigger than three fingers. I don’t want to hurt you.”  
He touched himself to spread the lube, but now he can’t stop pumping his fist - he’s desperate for touch, for pressure, for friction. Against his better judgement, he rubs the blunt tip of his cock along the crease of Tobirama’s ass, imagining himself plunging deep inside of him. 

“I am not some delicate flower,” Tobirama says, “I can take it.”  
The words would probably have a better effect if they hadn’t come out so breathy and needy. He means it, wants Madara to know how much he wants this, hopes the other will understand how much effort it took just to put a whole coherent sentence together _because_ of how much he wants this.   
He feels the tip of nirvana knocking at his door (and when will his mind stop giving him innocent metaphors, he wonders) and pushes back against it slightly, as much as he can while still holding his own legs up near his shoulders.  
“Fuck me,” he tries to growl.  
It sounds more like a mewl.  
If he gets his way then he very much doesn’t care.

Movements jerky, Madara doesn’t lose any time in pulling as close to Tobirama as he can, his crotch pressed tight against the younger’s ass. He has his cock in his hand, rubbing the slick tip against the loose entrance, feeling it give in minutely, but he stops as a stray thought hits him. “Can I activate my Sharingan?” he asks in a slightly desperate voice - this is something he wants to remember forever. For the rest of his life, he wants to be able to close his eyes and relive the moment he first made love to Tobirama, the boy spread out wantonly under him. 

Madara is absolutely full of things he wasn’t expecting. Tobirama, however, is a little far past the frozen-with-embarrassment point. He passed that with the first swipe of Madara’s tongue.  
“You can have your way with me in whatever way you want to as long as you actually get _on_ with it!”   
He’s so close he can taste it and the pause is not welcome.   
All the bravado in the world doesn’t stop him from flushing just a little bit though, and with their gazes locked he can see the delight in the older boy’s eyes. He makes a mental note to ask later why it’s so arousing to see him embarrassed. 

In a split second, Madara’s eyes flare red, the three tomoe spinning madly in excitement. He can see the single drops of sweat sticking Tobirama’s hair to his forehead, can see the goosebumps on his arms, can see his chest rising and falling with his pants.  
He can see the desperation written plain on his face that mirror his own, so he rocks forward and breaches Tobirama’s opening.  
Heat and a vice-like pressure greet him, and he cries out, his legs shaking with the need to thrust forward, but he stubbornly manages to stay still, only the blunt tip inside of the younger.  
Tobirama goes rigid underneath him, his eyes squeezed shut in a grimace, so to distract him Madara’s hand wanders over his torso and thighs, caressing firm muscle. Slowly, Madara pushes forward, plunging deep inside his lover - and kami, keeping to small increments is about the hardest thing of his life, because the vice-like clamping around his cock is utter bliss.  
“Fuck fuck, you’re so good, oh kami, you’re so tight, so tight-!” All he wants is snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the base, overcoming any resistance with sheer strength. 

It’s feels like being split in two at first, like being torn apart from the inside out. He really should have taken the offer of further stretching before going this far.   
But Madara, bless him, takes his time. He’s gentle, despite the desperation etched into every line of his expression. Tobirama tries to relax, tries to fight the way his body is attempting to close itself off.  
His beloved sinks further and further into him with tiny thrusts and more patience than would normally be expected from him. Tobirama lets him, lying still until he suddenly finds his hips rocking with the motion once more. Then he realizes that the pain is less and he’s able to let his muscles loosen-  
-and then he is gasping for every breath.   
He’s not just full he’s _stuffed_ and it’s Madara inside him, stroking along his inner walls and reaching into places no one else has ever been or ever will be. This belongs only to the two of them and his heart feels nearly as full as his ass.   
He reaches out, making a grasping motion without words. He wants Madara to kiss him, to ravage him so thoroughly from every point that he forgets his own name.

Finally, _finally_ , Madara buries himself as deep as he can go, and allows Tobirama to draw him into a heated kiss: it’s sloppy and uncoordinated and Madara doesn’t give a fuck, returning it with just a smuch passion, trying to convey his love and lust just as much as he’s trying to distract himself from his body’s demands that he starts seriously fucking the pliant boy underneath him.  
Tobirama is _whimpering_ against his lips, his legs spasming in Madara’s hold, his hands working uselessly into the sheet as if he just can’t control his body anymore.  
Burning every single detail in his memory forever, Madara breaks the kiss to pull back for better leverage: holding Tobirama at the right angle, he pulls back with a hiss until only the head is in - and then snaps his hips forward, sheathing himself deep into tight folds of flesh.  
Panting, his long hair falling in his face, Madara sets a steady pace, thrusting in and out - slow at first, then with utter abandon, the muscles in his legs contracted like steel springs.  
Tobirama cries and moans, broken sounds slipping past his parted lips, and he blindly reaches for Madara - but the Uchiha is too far for him to hug, so all he can do is leave red scratches down him chest and arms, causing Madara to gasp, thrusting in particularly hard. 

Tobirama’s nails might have sunk in a little too far but he’s sure neither of them care - or he would be if he could think.  
That last thrust zeroed straight in on that wonderful spot Madara’s fingers had found. The sounds spilling from him become a string of profanity and breathless pleading for again, again, again while his mind goes blissfully blank.  
He’s never been without thought before, his stupid genius brain going a mile a minute even when he wishes it wouldn’t. It is blank now. Nothing exists but the sensation of Madara moving within him, in and out in a rhythm that is steady but edged with the thrill of the chase.   
Tobirama knows he must have done something when that spot was impacted but he doesn’t know what, all he knows is that Madara has cried out as well as changed the angle of his hips to hit there every time.  
His entire body is quaking and thrashing and he can’t stop it, doesn’t want to stop it. Madara’s spinning red eyes watch him as he helplessly reaches a hand between them and grasps himself, stroking quickly.

Madara is very glad Tobirama took it upon himself to stroke his cock, because no matter how much he loves the other boy, he simply doesn’t have the coordination to do it himself - his mind is whiting out on him, climax building fast, and all he can do is hold onto Tobirama’s legs and pound him into the futon.  
_Harder, faster, deeper_ , Tobirama cries, and Madara gives it to him, thrusting inside of him with all the strength of his trained body, trusting his lover to take it and not break.  
It’s bliss, utter bliss, pleasure searing through his nerves like a raiton, and he drinks in the sight of Tobirama masturbating with jerky movements, the sight of the younger’s opening stretched wide around the girth of his cock, lube dribbling out with every thrust, making a sticky mess between them.  
The obscene sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin fills the room alongside with the heady smell of sex, their moans rising above it all.  
It’s so unbelievably good, just shy of _too much_ , and Madara can’t hold back anymore, his body rebelling his pleas for _just a bit more, please, let me fuck him just a bit harder_. His body arches like a drawn bow, pleasure crashing through him, white blurring the edges of his vision, and he thrusts hard once, twice, thrice, before burying himself as deep as he can go with a broken cry. 

Madara stills and the sounds he makes are more beautiful than any music this world could create. Tobirama can feel the sensation of his lover twitching inside him, filling him with hot seed, and it makes him shudder.   
But it isn’t _enough_.   
He’s so close and yet he finds himself unable to follow over that brilliant edge.   
He can’t stop the frantic pace of his hand and he practically writhes in desperation, a whine escaping him that he is too out of his head to care about.   
“Madara,” he pants, “Madara please - I -”

Tobirama clenches around him and Madara groans as a too-bright spark burns him - his cock is too sensitive, feeling raw and overexposed, and the tight clutch of his lover’s ass is too much for Madara’s pleasure-ridden mind. With a moan, he slips out, his body trembling in the afterglow.  
Hands shaking, he fits three fingers inside Tobirama’s loose entrance, uncaring of the cum dribbling out. It takes but a moment to finds the younger’s spot, swollen with the abusive thrusting, then he mercilessly prods at it, his other hand wrapping around the base of Tobirama’s cock, pumping fast and hard.  
A string of senseless cries, then Tobirama _screams_ , throwing his head backwards, thrusting back against Madara’s fingers and forward into his closed fist, until he comes, shooting white cum all over his chest. 

Someone’s screaming. Loudly. Harshly. It takes a moment to register that it is his own voice, breaking and sobbing under the onslaught.   
He can’t quiet until Madara takes his fingers out of Tobirama’s ass, unwraps the hand from around his cock. Then his entire body slumps to the futon and he lays shivering, spent, feeling as quivery as that strange gelatinous dessert he saw once, imported from another clan.   
He blinks blindly at the ceiling, slowly unclenching his fists from - he doesn’t even know. He can’t even identify where each limb is or what room he is in or what five plus five equals. His brain is mush.  
He focuses slightly at the feeling of kisses on his face, humming and turning in to the affection with a drowsy smile, unaware of just how wrecked he looks.   
“Is it always like that?” he wonders, barely aware of speaking out loud.

Madara smiles in between kisses, having laid down beside Tobirama, propping himself up on an elbow.  
“Not always, no. I'll try to blow your mind as often as I can, though.”  
His Sharingan is spinning lazily, recording the sheen of sweat on Tobirama’s neck glistening in the lamps’ light, the droplets of cum dribbling down his ribs, the flush darkening his face and shoulders, the contented look in his foggy red eyes.  
Feeling happy and sated and spent and tired, Madara pushes his hair away from his sweaty back and lies down, using Tobirama's shoulder as a pillow. 

He knows from experience that if he doesn’t clean his seed off of himself then by morning it will have dried into an itchy, flaky mess. Yet, he finds he has no motivation to move other than to turn and nuzzle his face into the top of Madara’s head, smiling as he inhales his favorite scent.  
Madara is warm, as always, and it should feel uncomfortable against his overheated skin. Instead it is comforting. The weight of his lover on top of him keeps the strange floaty feeling that languishes through his body in check and stops him from feeling as if he will simply drift away.   
As his body tries very hard to just melt into the futon beneath them, Tobirama reflects that he feels incredibly at peace. There is nothing bad waiting for him in the morning, Nerve-wracking, perhaps, that he has so many new people to meet and he will be doing it with a body that will surely be sore from losing his virginity. But in the morning he will still have Madara. And the morning after that he will still have Madara.   
In the morning he will have a home and someone who loves him. He will have a place where he does not have to hide.   
Exhaustion pulls at him and his eyes slide shut but before he falls any closer to slumber he has just enough time to think, ‘I’m happy.’

“I’m happy you’re happy,” he says, a droopy smile on his face. Despite feeling sore and tired like after a training spar, Madara exercises all his prized stubbornness to wriggle free of Tobirama's arm and sit up. That earns him a mumbled complaint, but Madara kisses it away. “Let me clean you up,” he says as he stands up on wobbly legs and heads to the bathroom, finds a cloth, and soaks it in cold water and makes his way back.  
Gently, as if he were cleaning one of his mother's precious glass elephants, he wipes the cum from Tobirama's chest and groin - then folds it and washes the sweat away from his face and neck.  
Satisfied, he cleans his own spent cock before throwing the cloth in a corner and lying on the futon. Like iron drawn to a magnet, Tobirama reaches out for him, his eyes half-lidded, heavy with tiredness.  
Chuckling silently, Madara pulls up the cover on them both before gathering the younger in his arms, allowing his love to use him as a pillow.  
“I'm glad you're here,” he whispers as he kisses Tobirama's forehead, making the other mumble something unintelligible.  
Madara chuckles, then allows sleep to claim him. 


	7. A Future With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been two years and many things have changed while many others haven’t - but they’re about to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to some real life stuff, I ended up writing a good chunk of this chapter myself so if Madara's characterization seems a bit wonky blame me, not Holly! xD

Madara: Holly & Tobirama: Rae & Hashirama: Rae

 

Even after two years it still makes some part of Tobirama smirk in satisfaction to see someone jump to his command, as the young child before him does. Little Hana hurries off at a word from him to find out where Madara has gotten off to. Either Tobirama has lost him in the crowd or his husband has wandered off - but they should be leaving now and he’s feeling a little too keyed up to go search for himself.  
Myo watches the little girl go as well, smiling as she hands him a bundle of paper on which to make his notes during the upcoming meeting. Tobirama smiles for her; a small smile, not like the large ones that Madara can bring forth, but still a smile. It’s still a point of pride for him, the caring bonds he has forged with all of his beloved’s precious people. They are his own family now as much as Madara’s, as ready to take up arms in his defense because he is _one of them_.   
Will he ever not feel lucky? Probably not.   
He checks the position of the sun and decides they probably have another fifteen minutes before they can be classified as making a late start.  
(And isn’t it a miracle, that he can walk in daylight like everyone else, that he can glance at the sun? It was Madara’s idea to order tinted goggles for him from Iron Country, a faraway land where they mastered all sorts of technology. They make him look strange, hiding his eyes behind black glass, but Tobirama loves it. He’s not forced to be nocturnal anymore by a sick joke of nature.)   
He goes around and speaks one last time with each of the people who make up the delegation that will be going with them, offering peaceful words and reminders to hold their temper. He gives tips on who to watch closely and what for. He is, after all, the one who knows their enemies best.   
Except that the Senju, after today, will no longer be their enemies. Today they will enter into the very first negotiations for peace between the two most powerful clans in all of Fire Country.   
Tobirama looks forward to two things. He is looking forward to seeing his brother, as he always does. And he is looking forward to the expressions on everyone else’s faces when they discover just where he was ‘stolen’ away to on the night that Madara granted him his freedom.

Hana finds him right as he’s leaving the Head’s House, a number of scrolls in his arms - looks like Tobirama is eager to leave. Damn freak, how can he always be ready half an hour before everyone else? It’s not Madara who’s late, it’s Tobirama who’s always too early!  
Snorting, he joins his husband at the gate, dropping the scrolls in Ryu’s arms without much ceremony. “You wanted to leave, let’s leave before you set us all on fire with your staring,” he gruffly says, making Tobirama frown at him. His husband opens his mouth to retort, but Madara pointedly raises an eyebrow, silently daring him to say he wasn’t staring at the assembled Uchiha with his patented glare, trying to make them prepare faster with his power of will.  
Tobirama hesitates, closes his mouth and turns with an arrogant swirl, striding out of the gate with all the dignity of an offended cat, Izuna scrambling to keep up with him.  
Madara chuckles, motioning at the other five Uchiha to get moving - they have a meeting to attend.  
The Uchiha Clan Head gives Tobirama all of two minutes to regain his dignity before walking up to him, brushing a hand down his husband’s arm. The silk of his blue yukata is cool and smooth under his fingers, and he affectionately brushes the small Uchiwa stitched along the border of the sleeves. He can’t help but preen when he sees Tobirama openly wearing his Clan’s red and white fan. It marks him as his, it marks him as theirs.  
No one is more possessive than an Uchiha - like an Inuzuka’s dog with a bone, they will go to ridiculous lengths for their loved ones.  
It’s just the Senju’s bad luck that they chose to hurt someone who would become so important for the Uchiha, able in two years alone to bring a great deal of positive changes to his Clan.  
“Are you sure I can’t torch them all?” he jokingly asks Tobirama. “I can say it was an accident. I saw a spider and- oops, I missed.” His husband turns to look at him, and even through the dark glass of his goggles he can see the amusement in his red eyes.

“Only if you miss Hashirama,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. “And it had better be a _big_ spider.” If anyone thought that he’s supposed to be the voice of reason in their union then they obviously have yet to become acquainted with the vicious, petty streak he has in him.  
At the very least he knows that Madara loves that part of him too - Madara loves every part of him, from the good down to the bad. Madara loves the color of his skin and the shade of his eyes. Madara loves the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he laughs and the way he gets angry.  
Madara also loves it when he shows off how much pride he carries for the Clan that took him in and gave him a home, evidenced by the way the other man’s fingers seem to gravitate to the stitching on Tobirama’s arm.  
He relents his mild irritation in favor of gracing his husband with a smile.  
“So? Have you decided how you’re going to open the negotiations? Or do you still have your heart set on suggesting that every Senju must receive a kick in the teeth before they will be allowed to approach the table?”  
He’s not sure he would discourage it, either. When last they met by the river, Hashirama had mentioned which Senju had insisted they be allowed to come ‘assist’ with negotiations. Quite a few of them he would happily kick himself. 

Madara smirks as he entertains fantasies of kicking various members of the Senju clan for probably the hundredth time. Just because it isn’t a realistic start to peace negotiations doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the image and use it to calm himself.  
“Perhaps just a punch to the nose,” he amends magnanimously. Tobirama laughs at his side and his chest swells, as it still does with every laugh he earns from this stoic, beautiful man.  
Izuna claims Tobirama’s attention then, asking questions about a conversation they were having last night, and Madara tunes them out as his mind turns towards the meeting they are travelling towards.  
By Hashirama’s account none of his clansmen ever figured out where Tobirama disappeared to two years ago, and he is very much anticipating watching their reactions. They were _stupid_ to ever let his love go, _stupid_ not to see the potential they had in their midst.  
Not that he minds their stupidity, as he had only gained from it.  
To this day Madara can’t understand how the Senju could let prejudice blind them so. Chakra sensors the likes of Tobirama are born once in a blue moon: it was plain stupid for them to disregard him. Heck, even if they didn’t believe he could fight, he would have been an invaluable presence in any war party as a tracker and sentinel, even if he had to be blindfolded and led by hand!  
(Then, of course Tobirama learnt to fight blindfolded, and showed them all they were idiots.)  
As if that wasn’t enough, Madara’s father was more than glad to adopt the albino into his clan when showed his mastery over water. Tobirama, book rat that he was, knew a load of suiton jutsu, the element following his will like an obedient puppy. Sure, the Senju neglected to actually teach him to use them in a fight, but the Uchiha were more than happy to fill that gap. By Madara’s side, Tobirama trained harder than ever under the best teachers the Clan had to offer, and he bloomed into the incredible fighter he is today.  
Tobirama was adamant in wanting to join Madara on the battlefield, and his husband was delighted to granting it.  
(With his pale colouring and his blue armour, Tobirama stood out like a sore thumb among the Uchiha ranks. Rumors about him quickly started to spread: depending on who you asked, they would tell you he was an Uchiha who had been cursed by the gods, or who had made a pact with demons, exchanging or losing his colours and his eyes in return for such amazing fighting skills. Why else would an Uchiha fight blindfolded or - later - with black goggles?)  
Madara spends the time travelling thinking to the past two years and trying to form his thoughts diplomatically, laying out his arguments in his mind and creating a mental checklist of the clauses he absolutely will not be budged on. He is willing to give way in some areas. He is prepared to obstinately stand his ground in others.  
Part of him hopes that the Senju will argue his terms, if only for the chance for him to rub his reasons in their faces and watch them squirm.

Hashirama glances around at the small group of his people that are accompanying him on this day, nervous but unwilling to show it. He is friends with Madara and acquaintances with Izuna; it isn’t the actual peace talks that have him restless.   
No, it is the worrying he has been doing about letting those with him see Tobirama again. Hashirama loves his clan. His loves his people. But even a person such as him with so much power to forgive is capable of telling right from wrong. The way his sibling lived his life was wrong and Hashirama does not regret helping him escape.  
He’s spent the last three nights laying awake in bed wondering how to react if one of his advisors demands that Tobirama return to the Senju.  
He’s also spent the last three days laughing under his breath trying to picture what their faces will look like when they spot him.  
Rumors of the ‘devil in blue’ have reached the Senju’s ears, the mysterious Uchiha who showed up on battlefields among their ranks about a year and a half ago. It is said that to face him is death and if one is unlucky enough to face both him and Madara then it is better to forfeit than to be slaughtered. Hashirama is very aware that no one in his clan has made the connection between these rumors and his brother.  
As the faint clinking sound of armor reaches his ears he perks up and thinks that he will not have long to wait to see the things he is both dreading and anticipating.  
The Uchiha have arrived.

If asked, Tobirama will deny it to his grave but he cannot resist sneaking in a quick jutsu to thicken the mist that hangs over the Naka River. The Uchiha delegation appears through the sluggish morning fog like forest spirits and it amuses him to smirk at the irony. Growing older does not mean that he has forgotten how to play.   
He settles himself at his husband’s side while the rest of their envoy spreads out along the riverbank with them. Their hands carefully stay away from weapons as they wait for the Senju to greet them. He takes those few moments to assess the party that waits on the opposite shore.  
His first cousin Touka, whom Tobirama knows very little, stands at Hashirama’s left. At his right is his new bride Mito, born of the Uzumaki clan. She is said to be fearsome and fearless with all the political knowledge and cool-headedness that her spouse lacks.  
Three members of the council of elders are here along with the two women who most often serve as diplomatic representatives to other clans. Tobirama wonders if anyone has ever noticed that the strength of the Senju clan, barring the children of the head family, rests mostly on the shoulders of women.

They make an imposing group, a line of Uchiha all wearing matching red armor - but for the man who stands just a little too close to Madara’s side, dressed in blue. Hashirama takes his time drinking in the sight of his brother, the same way he always does when they have the time to meet, the same way he knows his companions are doing.  
At eighteen years old Tobirama has finally grown. He stands of a height with Madara now, with broad shoulders and the same whipcord-thin body, muscles obvious even beneath layers of armor and clothing. His hair is spiky and short (Hashirama has tried to talk him into growing it out so many times and Madara growls at him for it every time) and he wears no headgear except a pair of goggles with dark frames and tinted lenses.  
(He feels a surge of guilt every time he looks upon them.  
He should have thought of them himself. He should have been the one to grant his brother the power to walk in the daylight. The sunshine turns his hair a shade of pale gold and it makes him appear to be wearing a crown. Hashirama thinks a crown would suit his brother.)  
The armor that Tobirama wears is blue for no reason other than that he likes the color more than that of the traditional Uchiha red. It is what earned him the moniker ‘the devil in blue’ and it is what causes the Senju ranks to stir, their eyes going first to his armor in startled recognition, second to his face in horrified realization. 

His husband, Madara thinks while holding in a snort, is in a terribly dramatic mood today. There’s no natural reason for the fog to suddenly shift and thicken unless it is being encouraged to do so.  
Still, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the apprehensive looks on the faces of the fools across the river from them as he and his companions slowly become more and more visible.  
And their expressions when they recognize Tobirama standing less than an inch from his side are _delightful_. The shock, the outrage, the flashes of guilt, the confusion, and best of all: the fear. Madara feels no shame in feeding his eyes a drop of chakra, allowing his Sharingan to spin to life and capture this moment forever.  
He’s a petty man and he’s never tried to deny that.  
“Hashirama,” he calls out. “I hope you’re not expecting us to conduct these talks on your side of the river. That’s Senju territory. Where is this neutral ground you promised?”  
“Ah, whoops!”  
He rolls his eyes as Hashirama brings his hands together, creating a wooden platform right over the center of the water that runs between their lands. It’s large enough to hold both parties generously and almost as if by afterthought a table and six chairs grows in the center.  
Madara flickers his chakra as subtly as he can, catching Tobirama’s attention without having to move or speak.  
  
Sensing Madara’s signal, Tobirama moves at the exact same second the other man does, stepping forward perfectly in sync.  
It’s a message, if the ones across from them care to acknowledge it. By stepping forward together to lead the others in their clan, neither challenging the other’s right to go first, they are stating without words that they have equal authority, equal standing. In short, they are claiming Tobirama for the Uchiha before any words have even been spoken on the subject, the action proclaiming his loyalties even louder than his presence here with them does.  
The elders that have come with Hashirama stare at him with open awe on their faces. Not the kind of awe one feels when viewing something beautiful, wonderful, but the kind of awe one feels as fear swells and you watch the world crash down upon you, unable to do more than sit still and let it happen.  
Tobirama would smirk but he doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of thinking they mean anything to him anymore - because they don’t.  
Both delegations gather chakra beneath their feet and cross the water to the newly built wooden platform. Tobirama and Izuna flank Madara as the three of them step up to the table, the other five spreading out in a line behind them.  
On the other side of the table Hashirama steps up first, joined by Mito and Touka. Touka looks at Tobirama like she wishes to say something yet knows that her words will not matter. Mito looks at him like a piece of meat at market, one she hopes she can afford.  
It makes him scoff internally. There isn’t a price in the world that could entice him away from where he is happy to be. He stares her down and crosses his arms, deliberately draping the fabric of his sleeves to prominently display the Uchiwa fans that decorate them.  
  
Madara thinks if he puffs up with any more pride he’ll turn into one of his hawks. He watches the flash of ire in Uzumaki Mito’s eyes and the satisfaction he feels in watching Tobirama’s snub is in no way dampened by the knowledge that they’re already angering those they are meant to be making peace with.  
“Shall we sit?” Hashirama says, a faint edge of frantic worry in his voice - so he noticed that little interaction as well. He always was overly in love with the idea of peace.  
“Yes, let’s.” Madara slides down into his seat, raising a hand to signal Ryu to bring forth the scrolls they had brought, and locks eyes with Hashirama. “We have terms which are non-negotiable-”  
He is cut off before the rest of his sentence is even finished.  
“Already making demands,” the woman to Hashirama’s left snarls. “Arrogant Uchiha. This is a _peace treaty_ , not a tyranny! We’re not here to bow to you!”  
“Touka, be still.”  
Hashirama’s words are quick and backed with the kind of force he normally only uses on the battlefield. He will brook no nonsense today, it seems, or at least he will stand for nothing that might come between him and the peace he has long sought after.  
The woman Touka, on the other hand, is not as invested in this meeting as her clan head. She freely ignores his command in favor of hissing loud enough for all those present to hear.  
“You do realize who that is, don’t you?” she demands. “That is Senju Tobirama, your own brother! How can you be so calm!”  
Madara thinks there are few times in his life he has ever been so happy to respond to someone but he limits himself to a mild expression.  
“I have no Senju in my party. However, you may perhaps have confused this Senju person you speak of with Uchiha Tobirama, my husband.”  
The seconds of silence that follow his statement are only the calm before the storm.  
  
“ _Husband!?_ ”  
Tobirama tilts his mouth up in a serene smile as he nods his agreement.  
“I have been happily married to Madara for two years now,” he informs the Senju party at large.  
Hashirama buries his face in his hands and prays out loud to the kami for patience while the rest of his clan experience collective apoplexy. The shouting and hand waving pass without comment as the eight Uchiha representatives look on in smug amusement. Stories of this moment will surely spread through their home within hours once they return.  
(They share his past and his pain and that is something that Tobirama has treasured from the day he took Madara’s name.)  
The attitude of the meeting shifts in an instant when some of the Senju reach for their weapons, hatred in their eyes as if something has been stolen from them and they believe themselves righteous in seeking to take it back.  
In an instant the air is flooded with oppressive chakra.  
Strangely, it is not Madara’s.  
Brother and brother sit utterly still as their chakra signatures lash and coil, cowing the ruffled Senju back into place in sheer terror of the power both of them wield. Or perhaps they are terrified of the intent behind their power.  
Hashirama seeks peace and he will see this through.  
Tobirama will embrace peace should it fall into his hands but what he seeks is much simpler. He seeks to protect the status quo, to never return to that life from which he escaped. He is happy and he will fight to protect that happiness, even if it means that a truce between their clans is not possible.  
  
“I said be _still_ ,” Hashirama barks, irate. “And that goes for all of you. These are talks of cooperation and goodwill. This is not a battleground, nor is it the time to discuss petty personal differences.”  
He takes a deep breath and forces himself to say the words aloud that took him many months to accept in his heart.  
“There is no longer a Senju Tobirama.” He is proud that his voice does not waver, even if the thought still causes a twinge of pain. “That is not relevant to today’s discussions, however. As Head of the Senju clan I hereby declare that matter closed. You have my guarantee that it shall not be spoken of again today.” The last he directs to the Uchiha party.  
He looks neither left nor right but he can feel the reactions of both women. From Touka, vicious anger but reluctant acceptance of his authority. From Mito, approval for his words and how he wields them.  
More important than either of them is the look in his brother’s eye. He is grateful, happy, proud. He has found his place in life and Hashirama would not take that from him, not for anything in the world.  
With a quick nod Hashirama returns his gaze to his oldest friend.  
“You were saying, Madara?”

The meeting goes well after that, much easier than Madara would have ever anticipated. He finds himself reluctantly impressed with how tightly Hashirama manages to rein in his companions when they step out of line. Madara himself needs to speak sharply a few times when his own clan members get a little too riled.  
It takes hours and his throat burns from talking so much but by the time the sun begins to set the Uchiha and the Senju have the beginnings of a tentative peace agreement. It’s not set in stone and it certainly does not cover everything but it’s a damn good start and Madara is pleased.  
No more senseless deaths.  
No more graves for children.  
No more brothers left behind to weep with helpless rage.  
As he shakes hands with Hashirama, symbolically binding their people together for the very first time (it isn’t really the first time, Tobirama is proof of that, but it’s the symbol that matters to others), Madara has to clench his teeth against a wave of memories rising unbidden.  
_Kaito, Kenji, Tojiro_. He can see them as clear as day, their smiles and their frowns and the last time he had seen their faces, bloody and broken. He sees their graves, the deaths they went to at the hands of random Senju soldiers.  
Then he sees them laughing; he sees Kaito learning to lead them and he sees little Tojiro looking up at him with innocence in his chubby face. He sees the happy times when they all sat together for family meals, putting salt in each other’s drinks and laughing at the faces they made.  
They would have wanted peace, he decides. They would have wanted Madara to do whatever it took to make sure no more children suffered their fate.  
He looks to his side. They would have wanted him to be happy. And they would have liked Tobirama, would have welcomed him as readily as Izuna did even knowing the younger man’s origins, just because he makes Madara so _happy_.  
When he shakes his head to clear the sudden memories away Hashirama is still holding tightly to his hand, fat dramatic tears streaming down his cheeks as he gives some stupid speech about what a momentous day this is.  
“You’ll never grow up, will you?” Madara grumbles, trying to take his hand back.  
What he doesn’t say out loud is that he hopes Hashirama never will. He hopes this peace lasts and that nothing will ever force Hashirama to turn to the same darknesses that so many others have. 

Tobirama has been hoping to avoid hugging his brother but for once he doesn’t move quite quickly enough. When Hashirama darts around the table he sighs and stands still, allowing his sibling to hold him tightly and blubber into his shoulder, patting awkwardly at his back while rolling his eyes.   
“All my dreams are coming true,” Hashirama chokes out, finally standing up but leaving his hands resting on Tobirama’s shoulders. “And you?”  
“Me?”  
“I was never the best brother towards you. I should have protected you more. I should have fought for more freedom for you. But you know, I don’t think I ever asked you what your dreams were. Do you have everything you dreamed of, brother?”  
For a moment, Tobirama simply stands still and blinks at the older man. His dreams? He’d never given much thought to dreaming when for so many years it had seemed a useless endeavour.  
Then he had met Madara. Then he had fallen in love. Then he dreamed of nothing more than being together, nothing more than simple happiness.  
“Yes, I suppose I do,” he says, a little surprised to feel like it was true.  
He has a family who accepts him, who values him. He has a place at Madara’s side in life and in battle. And now there is peace and he will be free to visit the one person in his birth clan who has never hated him. He can’t think of a single thing more that he could ever want.  
It takes a lot more tears (all of them from Hashirama) and some rather blunt words (split nearly evenly between Madara, Tobirama, and Touka) but eventually the two parties part ways. Each carries with them a record of what has been discussed today and a date upon which they are to meet again. More details will need to be hammered out before true peace can be said to be in effect, but as of today both clans declare an official ceasefire.  
When he turns to leave, Tobirama does not look back even once.

Madara turns the meeting over in his mind as he walks, leading their party back home to spread the news of what has transpired.  
He probably wasn’t meant to overhear but he couldn’t help it: Hashirama is a loud person who broadcasts every conversation he has. He also cannot help repeating Tobirama’s words in his mind.  
“Do you truly have everything you’ve ever dreamed of?” he asks, feeling a bit silly. He’s very confident in his husband’s happiness. He hasn’t doubted it even for a moment since the night he stole his love away. Perhaps it’s the wording of it. Perhaps it’s that neither of them has spoken out loud very much of their dreams.  
Whatever it is, he feels compelled to ask now. 

Tobirama shrugs casually.   
“The only thing I ever dreamed of was you.”  
Well, perhaps he had wished to be normal quite often in his youth but that didn’t really count as a dream in his opinion.  
Madara doesn’t seem able to answer him at first and he rolls his eyes.  
“You’re not going to get all emotional and sappy are you? Because if you are then I can bring everyone home while you turn back and go weep with Hashirama. You can even braid each other’s hair.”

Madara narrows his eyes. That little shit. He snags Tobirama’s arm and turns them both off course.  
“Izuna,” he calls, “lead the rest. I need to speak with my _husband_.”  
His brother snickers and Tobirama smirks but no one else dares to say anything as Madara marches the two of them out of sight behind a thick copse of trees.  
There he shoves the younger up against a convenient tree, demands that he close his eyes and tears away the goggles. Then he presses his mouth against his love’s in a violent kiss, biting at his lips and not bothering to soothe the sores away.  
“I’ll show you _sappy_ ,” he growls.

Tobirama pliantly allows himself to be manhandled, knowing exactly where this is leading. He grins into the kiss and shudders under the hands that pull at the straps of his armor.   
If this is supposed to be Madara’s idea of punishment then he is very much looking forward to it.  
Almost as much as he is looking forward to the rest of his life. 


End file.
